


It's a love story, baby just say yes.

by Baliano711



Category: Football RPF
Genre: First Time, Fluff, I lied the angst is real, Introspection, M/M, Men with kids, These boys are so stupid, everyone knows but these two idiots, mini-angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 97,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baliano711/pseuds/Baliano711
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergio and Iker are hypocrites, Marcelo and Pepe just want to dance, Isco is adorable, Karim can't stop laughing at Cristiano, Fábio needs to get his own vegetables and a ride home and everyone knows about Gareth and Cris, except maybe them. Until Gareth does everything right and everyone is impressed and Cris can't control himself anymore.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Olores

Alive.

That single word encapsulates exactly how Gareth is feeling in this moment. Happy is accurate but it’s a dull adjective in comparison to the amount of excitement he can feel circuiting through his bloodstream. 

Dirt and grass have never smelt this good to him but those are the scents of victory as he lays on the pitch of the most famous football field, fighting to capture air and vibrating with the leftover adrenaline from his goal. His goal. He has scored in El Copa Del Rey against their rivals, Barcelona. How is this his life? 

He wants to cry and laugh and.... _breathe_ he needs to breathe.

He can feel arms around him keeping him grounded, he's so high off his victory right now he feels like without Luka he would surely float away into the sky and burst into million pieces. 

"You did it, you did it" he can hear Luka's soft voice in his ear confirming what he already knows but he whispers back "We did it. You helped" and he can feel Luka's laughter shaking his body where he's still holding him. 

He knows Luka is laughing at him for his steadfast humility but he can't help it he'll always be that boy, he hears what the media says about the Welsh NT but he's nothing without his team mates and he never hesitates to let them know. 

He needs to get up and go hug the rest of the team, let them know he's so proud of them they proved the critics wrong they are the best team, the deserving team. 

Luka has wondered off to go celebrate with the team and he stands up on tensed legs, the legs that drove him to this moment. He can feel hands on him as he makes his way through the pitch , grunts and praises "Beautiful play" "You were amazing" all aiding in the red stain across his freckle covered cheekbones, he's never handled compliments well. 

Ángel, he sees him and makes his way over to congratulate him on scoring the first goal needing to escape from the compliments and proud pats on his back and ruffles to his hair (Damn Nacho, his hair was already a mess) and that's when he sees the sun. 

No, not the actual sun but his sun his constant here at Real Madrid, Cristiano. Ángel quickly darts away again proving why he's such a great footballer and Cris fills in his void and suddenly Gareth needs to know if he's proud. 

Cris never lies another vice he avoids and he can always trust him to be honest. Cris holds him close and seems to be breathing in his scent and Gareth flushes because he must be sweaty and Cris always smells so good.

He goes to pull back when Cris tightens his grip and speaks hotly into his ears "You did it, you were amazing" and his heart skips a beat and he needs to sit down because Cris sounds.....reverent and a little out of breath. 

He puts a few inches between their bodies and now he can see Cris' face and wow he's beautiful his smile is infectious and it takes all Gareth has to not lean forward and taste it. 

"I-we-no it wasn't just me, we played really strong today and I knew I had to prove myself especially with you being banned and I wanted to take charg- I mean no I'm not the captain that's Iker and Sergio but they aren't strikers and I'm expected to score goals. I didn't want to let everyone down, I didn't want to let you-" Gareth stops short because Cris places his finger on his lips.

"I am so proud of you, you could never let me down...amour mio" Cris whispers the endearment like a prayer and Gareth feels his blood set on fire again because this is more than he's ever dreamed of. "......and I know everyone wants to celebrate but I want you to come over " and Gareth realizes Cris was still talking when he was in his daze and he blushes and looks down in embarrassment he's not a teenage girl dammit! 

 

 

Cris walked onto the pitch with all his focus on Gareth before he even saw him, he needed to touch him and make sure he wasn't a figment of his imagination.

They are compared to each other a ridiculous number of times and he knows Gareth feels all the pressure like physical weight on his broad shoulders. 

Tonight Gareth has shut all the doubters up and it won't stop them from talking later but tonight he is a God among men. 

Or a fallen angel because how can there be such a perfect human being?

Cris knows his reputation and what people think he thinks of himself and he's not ashamed to say that he loves himself and he loves his life but he loves football and loves his fans more and Gareth he loves Gareth, with his quiet humor and his drive and his endless determination and his beautiful crooked smile. 

Gareth, who has made his dream come true too, who he's holding in his arms right now like a lifeline. 

He's slightly damp and smells like dirt and grass but these are scents that Cris knows all too well. He can hear that slightly accented voice and he knows that Gareth is feeling unsure of himself despite the sheer brilliance he has just accomplished, this is one of the most glaring difference between the two.

People wrongly assume that humility and modesty are beneath him because he's Cristiano Ronaldo, the king of football but growing up the way he has always fighting for recognition and his place he's quickly learned that others respond to confidence and he's spent so many of his younger years thinking he would die unknown that he embraces his life with both hands like Iker nestling a wayward ball in his saintly hands. 

He stops Gareth before he can fumble himself into a stupor and speaks the truth, he's so proud of his young Welshman. When they first met he could never have foreseen where their friendship would transgress. 

Gareth was so similar to him on paper he was a bit unsettled by his transfer to Real and he decided they could be team mates but nothing more, he already had Pepe and Marcelo to joke and pull pranks with. 

Their first meeting was a publicized event and they both smiled and shook hands amicably for the flushing lights of the cameras that followed them everywhere. Gareth seemed so calm on the outside but his nerves showed in the balmy texture of his hands and the awed looked in his oceanic blue eyes. 

"Gareth Bale" he spoke has if Cris hadn't heard about Real Madrid's new most expensive purchase and he responded "Cristiano Ronaldo" feeling foolish but not wanting to seem rude or unwelcoming. 

What transpired after was what changed his mind about his former idea of keeping his distance from Gareth, the wide pink lips formed into a shy smile and a giggle escaped although he tried to cover it with his hand. 

"I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are, I mean you're the reason I wanted to come here. You're my idol-sorry I don't mean to sound like a crazy fan....but I honestly feel like one. " Gareth was still shaking Cristiano's hand pumping up and down as he spoke, words spilling from his mouth in quick English and Cris had to take a minute to comprehend what was being said to him.

He smirked because Gareth was very endearing and the more he spoke the lower his voice became as if he didn't want to be heard but he couldn't control the diatribe of words falling from his mouth. Very nice mouth indeed. They were both swept away after their meeting but Cris already liked the young striker.

Cris spoke enough English to hold conversations with most of his English speaking teammates but his friendship with the Welshman was one that seemed to transcend beyond words, they were both fluent in the language of football. 

Gareth showed up early for practices always dribbling and taking shots into an empty net, he never acknowledged Cris more than a nod and quick whistle to return a lost ball. Cris was the one who initiated their practices together, he sat on the bench one morning tying the shoes on his new custom Nike boots and he looked over and saw Gareth stretching. 

Long fingers gripping the bottom of his shoes and pulling, Cris couldn't look away and found himself walking over and standing behind his inverted body. "Early start eh?" He said breaking the silence Gareth sprung up turning around eyes wide and lovely, "I couldn't sleep, usually I get some food from Nando's but that's not an option here" Gareth answered staring at a spot on the ground. 

"Gareth I would like to practice with you, do you want me....to?" Cristiano replied slyly keeping his face passive.

There was a charge in the air following his teasing inquiry but Cris couldn't help it he wasn't used to subtlety and what was in the harm in a little flirting? 

This was Real everyone flirted, Sergio and Iker were notorious for it constantly touching and kissing each other, with no regards for propriety and he wasn't ashamed to say sometimes he flirted with both after seeing the effect him shirtless had on them. 

They were footballers and they were passionate and sometimes that passion translated to embraces and affections that some might find too amorous but not never stopped them, but this was different because while he was aware of Gareth’s hero worship of him he has no idea how he would react to him openly flirting with him maybe he wanted a mentor or father figure of sorts. 

Ay dios mio! Now he left older than his 29 years thinking that but he wasn’t prepared for Gareth to look up from under thick black eyelashes and reply “I’ve wanted you……. to practice with me since I got here.” 

Damn Cris was impressed and a little turned on by Gareth’s bashful assertiveness he wasn’t sure when he became so attracted to the new transfer but he wasn’t going to question it. 

“Vamos then I’ll play offense and you play defense let’s see if you can take my ball” Cris suggested while dribbling the ball on the ground he didn’t have to look up to see Gareth’s red tinted face he could feel his embarrassment like the static energy he usually felt in the air on match nights. 

Practicing early in the mornings became a regular thing for them and Cris couldn’t believe he thought they wouldn’t be friends, Gareth was funny in a dry kind of way he laughed at himself and thought Cris was amazing but he stopped stuttering everything they made body contact, which was a lot Cris made sure of that.

Then came the goal celebrations Cris was always the one to touch Gareth or pull him into a hug in their private practices but the first time Cris scores with an assist from Gareth, it’s like a switch has been flicked because Gareth is dazzling in his happiness he wholeheartedly throws himself into Portuguese’s arms and wraps around him like a particularly tactile snake. 

It took the whole team joining them and a ridiculously smarmy look from Sergio, the damn hypocrite, to pull him back from the edge. 

He’s equally relieved and frustrated by the team’s presence and in the corner of his eye he can see Sergio taking Gareth’s hand and pulling him away. He watches as they both make their way over to Iker and he kisses the Andalusian on the corner of his mouth and pulls a shocked Gareth into his arms and rubs his back.

Cris feels his teeth clench and it’s the sweet voice of Isco that takes his eyes away from this strange scene “I think Iker has a crush on your boy he was very excited when he was signed, he clearly has a thing for young new comers huh?” says the young playmaker with a grin on his face and Cris knows he mostly joking but he can’t help but think its oddly true and he’s not comfortable with others touching things he perceives as his.

It’s the chorus line of the Real Madrid anthem that ultimately drags him out of his musing his lips forming the words before his mind even makes a conscious decision “Hala Madrid y nada mas” and then he hears the his own name being shouted and he’s being beckoned for a group picture it seems. 

They all clamor together and its chaos, with Sergio and Marcelo dancing; while Iker is yelling for them to stop, Karim and Rapha are taking selfies on their phones ignoring the rest of the group, Fabio and Pepe are wrapping each other in the Real Madrid scarfs until they hear “Silencio hijos!” and Ancelotti is making his way over and he’s trying to look stern but he can’t hide the satisfied look on his face and the slight pep in his step. 

“All of you stop being yourselves for 2 minutes so we can take this picture and then you can all go be horrible again” he delivers this with a blank face and they all stand in silence until they hear the cheery voice of a bushy haired Brazilian shout “Papa Carlo don’t lie you love ussss!” quickly followed by “Si! We are like your long lost children and I’m your favorite child!” and Cris is not at all surprised that it’s his best friends that have the guts to joke with the strict maestro in such a fashion. 

It takes longer than it should to shepherd everyone in for the group picture and it’s amazing how in sync they can be on the pitch but the synchronization melts away when they are faced with the simplest tasks. 

When Cris’ eyes find Gareth he is already looking at him as if saying “can you believe them?” and he chuckles and makes his way over to him ignoring his idiots calling him over and screaming that he’s abandoned them, it’s an ongoing joke that Gareth is his new favorite he never denies it. 

Lying isn’t his style. 

His arms go around the strong but slim waist on auto pilot and Gareth leans into him like a flower striving for sunlight and he even goes as far as to butt his forehead into Cris’ neck for a few seconds.

He needs to get out of there, he needs to get them out of here there’s so much he wants to do and he can’t do it on the pitch in front of his team mates, they would enjoy it far too much. “1,2,3 say cheese” and impulsively Cris leans over to kiss Gareth on the cheek as the flash goes off and he can hear Karim’s bellowing laugh behind him and the whole team erupts into catcalls and why is this his life? 

He feels his Welshman pulling away and no, that’s not an option he doesn’t care about his team mates of 3 year olds with the exception of Iker who is a grumpy old man. 

“Gareth and I are leaving” he informs no one and everyone and that doesn’t help the cat calls or Sergio’s lewd hand gestures and Rapha’s confused gaze and Karim whispering in his ears, in the end it’s Fabio who speaks up. 

“Hey! Why do you get Gareth we want to celebrate with the man of the hour too!” and Cris knows that he is intentionally trying to mess with him and he notes to get a higher fence for his garden to keep out the nosy vegetable thief, teach him a lesson. 

Suddenly it’s a sea of voices all agreeing with the blond haired Portuguese and making plans to go out and get drunk and Cris is not at all interested, he wants Gareth and he is tired of pretending otherwise so he turns to him and says in his most seductive voice. 

“Who do you want bebe? You want to go out with them or do you want to come with me?” he slowly moves his hand from Gareth’s waist lower just inches from the curve of his bum and he gasps and is peering into Cris’ molten chocolate eyes and it’s not even a competition he nods his head. 

“I want you.” and the this is no longer a joke this is real and Sergio and Iker look at each other and smile because they remember their first confession and Pepe and Marcelo are beyond ecstatic for their friend and Dani doesn’t understand why everything has to be such a damn production, what is this a Shakespearean love story?

“So are you guys going to actually _go_ anywhere? Or did you plan on singing about your feelings too? He clips unapologetically because he wants to go get drunk and forget his name and these two lovesick idiots are just standing there gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Leave them alone Carvajal you’re just mad you don’t have a bromance and you’ll never be a part of a power couple” Sergio defends sticking his tongue out and while making his way over to Iker and Isco who have abandoned this conversation completely instead discussing this restaurant that makes delicious paella. 

It’s Gareth who cuts off Dani’s with a soft “Cris I want to go” standing as close to the Portuguese star as he can without melding into his body and that’s it Cris is off like a firecracker he pulls Gareth’s hand and absentmindedly waves good bye to the team, not allowing anyone to stop him from his mission. 

Get Gareth in his car, take him home and make him his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this story because I honestly believe in this pairing so strongly, they have such respect and affection for each other it has gripped me and won't let go. This will be an ongoing story, I'm inspired by interviews, pictures, and generally their interactions on the pitch. This is my brainchild, so it will never be abandoned I have endless ideas for these boys! I want to send a cyber hug, kiss and spank to my b(a)eta Miss Gray, you have been my biggest cheerleader and this would not have happened without you. You have made me better and you've definitely made this story better, you are the Gareth to my Cristiano. Hope you all enjoy!!


	2. Sentido

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two idiots finally figure it out.

He's died and gone to heaven. 

That’s the only explanation that the blue eyed Welshman has for his current predicament he’s sitting on cool leather seats inside of a multimillionaire car, trekking down the streets toward his idol’s house and his heart is beating so fast; he immediately thinks of a hummingbirds wings. 

He can’t look over at the driver’s face he’s too, just, _everything_. Every emotion there is to feel he’s feeling it, explosively and he’s almost worried he might pass out from the excitement and never make it to the house. 

He feels warm dry hands on his knee and now he can’t help but look over and Cris’ eyes are squarely on the road but there’s so much tension in his body that there’s no doubt where his focus truly lies. 

“You’re nervous” Cris proclaims and it’s a statement that needs no response so Gareth doesn’t, in words, he grips the hand in his hand and gives a small squeeze. 

By the time they reach the house (read mansion) Gareth is still a nervous wreck but he’s more secure in himself, they held hands the entire 20 minute ride and even when both their phones were buzzing beyond control. 

Cris parks in the marble floored driveway and is out of the car in a flash, running around the other side to open the door for him. 

He’s noticed that Cris has an affinity for opening doors for him and guiding him with a hand on his lower back and he’s never commented on it before but he loves, he’s never had someone try to impress him before and he lets Cris guide him out of the car and then he’s being pushed into the warm metal of the car and there’s a hard body on his and a hand in his hair. 

“Are you sure you want this? I need you to be sure because I want you so badly but if you just wanted to hang out we can do that too” he says giving Gareth an out, and he doesn’t want one how could he ever think he wanted that when every pore on his body is screaming Cris’ name. 

He grabs his shoulders and brings their bodies in even closer contact nuzzling his neck and answering “I’ve never wanted anything more. Except to play beside you and hold a trophy with you and we’ve already checked those off the list” and that’s all that Cris needs to hear he kisses him brutally, lips devouring his and tongue forcing his mouth open and swirling around like he can’t get enough of his taste. 

There are hands on his ass squeezing the cheeks and pulling his body in even though there’s nowhere else for him to go, he gives as good as he gets wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders and holding on for dear life. 

Cris kisses the way he plays football, brilliantly taking what he wants with laser precision and Gareth lets out a moan and it gets swallowed- _ugh_ now he’s getting hard thinking about the things Cris could swallow and he unintentionally rocks his hips and brushes against an answering erection.

Cris still has one hand on his arse but the other is making its way under his shirt rubbing the skin under and setting his very essence in a wildfire, he pulls back to catch his breath and feels those hungry lips on his neck nibbling and licking the sensitive skin there. 

There’s a wet suction that is driving him insane now and he feels his knees buckling and he whispers “Please” and that seems to have a cataclysmic effect on his lover, who drags him back into a kiss that’s more tongue than anything and then he’s being lifted onto the hood of the car. 

Cris spreads his legs with his body and holds his hands above his head looking down on him “Look at you, so needy and ready to be owned by me. I bet you would let me do anything I wanted and beg for more, you’ve always been greedy for me haven’t you baby?” and he has never heard this Cris before, sinfully seductive and it makes him squirm and arch his back welcoming the dominant treatment. 

Cris' hips are like machines pumping and rolling on his own and they need to get inside before this all ends too soon and he's right about not even making it into the house.

"Cris we need to stop we can't do this out here what if someone's watching?" He manages to pant out pulling his hips back to get some blood flowing in our locations, a different head. 

Cris growls a deep rumbling in his chest that vibrates through Gareth's and holy crap, when did this happen the Cris he usually sees is calm and collected, not this ravenous predator he has residing on his body. 

Cris hasn't stopped his assault on Gareth's body, his hands are making their way to hard sensitive nipples and his succulent lips are zigzagging across his face like a striker on the pitch going for goal. 

"I'm gonna take you wherever I want you, right now I want you spread on my car there's no one watching and if there is they can _fuck off_ " and he crashes into the paralyzed Welshman gripping his hips in a manner that will definitely bruise. 

Gareth is far from cocky growing up with awkward limbs that seemed too long and never quite sure what to do with his hair, he's never focused on his looks or tried to enhance his appearance. 

However, he knows the effect a well-placed bite of the lip and coy look from under his baby blues can have on Cris and he's so desperate to get inside he's now banking on it. 

He places his hands on Cris' gorgeous face and gently tugs it from his neck, where he's no doubt getting a hickey (it’s gonna be a bitch to cover that up in this Madrid heat) and once their eyes meet, he begs "Por favor I've dreamed about this, don't you want me in your bed? " he allows vulnerability to leak into his voice knowing that the protector in Cris will inevitably come out if he shows any signs of insecurity and he's right. 

Cris pulls him up from his eagle spread on the car and his features have softened and his tone is soothing like honey and milk. "Don't doubt yourself I just got eager I want you everywhere especially my bed I couldn't stand to see all those hands on you today, my hands are the only hands that should be on your body. I want to open you up and eat you alive, until you forget everything except my tongue and my cock." 

Gareth's brain seizes and he's reeling what is he supposed to say to that? With all their flirting he knows that the entire team believes that they are fucking or at least messing around, but Cris has a lot of events and Gareth spends most of his free time with his princess, Alba. 

The furthest they’ve gotten is a quick kiss when Cris had offered to drive him home, much to the annoyance of Fabio who had to find another ride. 

They had driven in silence until they reached his house and he had thanked the star for the ride and went to open the car door, when his arm was taken in a gentle but firm grasp. 

He turned back and Cris was closer than he had been the entire ride, and getting closer and suddenly soft lips were pressed against his. It was a gentle press that ended as soon as it begun and he was light headed and he heard a deep “See you tomorrow Gare get some rest”. 

That was the height of their sexual exploration and now they were skipping past all the bases and he’s nervous but he knows he wants this, he feels the sensuous moments of the hips against him and then Cris moves back and he thinks he's going to allow him to slide down the car but he's wrong, strong hands grip the space under his knees and position them around a perfectly trim waist. 

He holds on tight and then he's being lifted up and he has to push down a squeak that almost makes its way out without his permission. 

He looks away from this smirking face directly in his line of vision, and he's had enough of being embarrassed he's no blushing virgin...... _alright_ he might be blushing a tad but he's no virgin and he now has concrete proof that Cris wants him so he goes for the kill, breathing into the pierced ear "I feel a right mess would it be too much trouble if I took a quick shower?" 

He doesn't give Cris a chance to answer knowing that he's imagining his wet body and the dirty things he wants to do with it, he pushes back with renewed strength and hops down onto his tired legs. 

He grabs his soon to be lover's hand and starts walking to the house, a man on a mission. He's never felt sexier than in this moment and he's reminded of all the reasons him and Cris work, Cris who is so loving and makes him feel like he's the only person in the world when he hugs him close. 

He needs to tell Cris how much he cares for him before the take the final step so he stops their movement and turns around and only Cris’ quick reflexes prevent him from colliding into him. 

“I need to say something before we do this, I…..” he’s losing his resolve how can he explain to Cristiano how much he means to him? 

That when he joined Real Madrid he never expected them to be friends and he could never dream of such an incredible feat but playing beside him was enough, no matter how much money other clubs offered him once Madrid was on the table his mind had been made up. 

His adulation of the man quickly turned to true admiration of his amazing football skills but above all else his huge heart, Cris was the first to hug a crying fan or offer a shirt and he never saw himself above anyone he appreciated every moment of his very blessed life. 

Cris had so much love for his fans that Gareth wasn’t sure there would be any room for him but there was and he has been accepted to a very prestigious club, people who could call Cristiano a friend. 

They were about to cross that line from friends into something more and he’s scared, genuinely worried that this could ruin them and the relationship they had worked so hard for. “Gareth I know you’re brave I’ve seen you face down opponents without flinching I hope that I’m not as scary as people who are generally trying to attack you” Cris teases using humor as a way to pull Gareth out of his own thoughts and it works beautifully as he chuckles and all the tension leaves his body.

“You’re scary in a different way they can’t hurt me, not really and they have to catch me first to do that” “You think I would hurt you?” “Not intentionally but what if we ruin what we have by doing this? I know you’re proud of me we don’t have to do anything to prove it.” 

And there it is. 

Cris stands in shock after Gareth’s admittance that he thinks this is some sort of payment for his winning goal and he steps forward before that thought can have any more time to permeate in his boy’s head. 

He places both hands on the lightly freckled face and gazes into those sky inspired eyes and says the only thing that needs to be said “I love you. I am not doing you any favors I want you, I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you and you couldn’t shake my hand without turning into a rambling mess. You impress me every day and make me want to be a better player, a better man, no one has ever believed in me the way you have. Let me show you how much I want you, come inside and I’ll show you _exactly_ how much.”

He feels lighter following his confession and it’s only when he hears a slight sniffle that he looks up and his boy is a mess his eyes are red and glossy and he’s biting that lip and he has no choice but to drag him into his arms, whispering to him in Portuguese and rocking them back and forth in slow motions.

“I didn’t know. I-what? You love me?” 

“You shouldn’t sound so surprised a lot of people say that you’re the Welsh version of me and we both now I’m the best” he chuckles and takes off his backwards facing hat to place on Gareth’s messy brown locks. 

“You look good in my hat I bet you would look good in my shirt in the morning too” he closes the cheeky comment off with a wink, “ I probably look like a little boy trying to play dress up haha it looks far better on you” Gareth answers smiling self consciously

“You shouldn’t compare yourself to me Gare…. We can’t all be underwear models” and this sends them both into a fit of laughter and they’re leaning on each other and the tears in Gareth’s eyes finally spill over as he laughs with his whole body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything that happened was naughty Cris' fault, Gareth and I are innocent. But I can't say the same about the next chapter, hope you guys are enjoying the ride drop a comment and let me know!


	3. Intimidad

Cris’ house is everything that Gareth expects it to be and he’s in awe for a few seconds after stepping through the doors, beautiful French doors that open to an opulently furnished palace. 

Before he can properly look around and oh, there’s an adorable family picture of Cris and Cris Jr. and he’s constantly reminded that everything Cris produces is great, he’s being dragged up the winding marble stairs so quickly he gets a sense of vertigo. 

They stop outside what he presumes is the master bedroom and he winds his arm around his Portuguese to push open the door himself, he doesn’t want any more hesitation they both have already admitted how badly they need this. 

He walks over to the bed and sits down because he can’t resist the call of the luxurious king sized bed and he moans out loud when his bum touches it, it’s unbelievably soft he feels like he’s sitting on a cloud and he leans back to fully enjoy this amazing bed clearly sent from the heavens. 

He doesn’t see how Cris’ eyes darken at his moan or the dark glint in his eyes after seeing him sprawled on his bed, he doesn’t know how much this very scene has been featured in the superstars mind.

He does feel a shift on the clo-bed and he opens his eyes, and he’s not quite sure when he closed them and then he feels lips on his neck and a hand in his hair and this must really be heaven.

“As much as I love seeing you in my bed and that’s a lot, we better get you in the shower before you fall asleep on me I have a lot of plans for us tonight with the bed and none of them involve sleeping” Cris whispers and his breath on his ear makes Gareth feel like his going to explode so he needs to cool down before it’s over before it’s even begun. 

He stands up and drags his shirt over his head still feeling sticky despite his quick shower in the locker room and he puts his hands on his jeans when he remembers. 

He blushes bright red and is frozen in place until he hears a growl, “Keep going” and he can’t keep going because he’s going to die of embarrassment first so he turns around and spots the master bathroom and he all but sprints to it. 

He hears Cris get off the bed and he needs to get inside but the forward is too fast and he catches him by his arm and spins him around, “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t lay down on my bed and present yourself and start to get undressed and just stop and run away” and he knows he’s being impulsive and he’s confusing Cris but he needs to change alone.

“Cris I’m not changing my mind I promise you I want this more than ever but….but I need to change alone please” and he follows his request with a pleading gaze and signature lip bite and Cris almost falls for it, he’s so tempted to just let it go but he’s also curious because what could be making Gareth this uneasy? 

So he does what he does best he turns on the charm “Baby you don’t ever need to hide from me I love your body and honestly I’ve checked you out so many times already in the locker room” he’s not shy to admit this because he’s seen those blue eyes wondering as well so he knows it’s mutual. 

That brings a smile to the Welshman’s handsome face and he thinks he’s got him and he reaches for the button of his pants and then Gareth moves back and he wants to hold him down and rip his pants off, but he won’t because he knows he can be aggressive in bed and he needs to ease Gareth into this. 

So he backs away but he can’t stop the sigh that escapes because he’s hurt that there is something bothering his boy that he won’t talk to him about, how can they do this without absolute trust?

“I won’t pressure you can go in the bathroom and do whatever you need to” and he means it and that surprises him because he’s very possessive and when he wants someone, he wants all of them, every flaw, everything. 

But what he feels for this man in front of him is more than his pride and he doesn’t want to own him, not in that way he only wants to take what is freely given to him. 

He turns away and goes to sit on his bed and check his phone to respond to messages from his family and maybe post some pictures on his Instagram to keep his fans happy.

He’s looking at a group shot of the rest of the team- Sergio is kissing Iker on his cheek with a huge grin on his face and they both look happy and drunk, Pepe and Marcelo are covered in tomato sauce and he knows they most likely had a food eating contest, Isco is gazing up at the ceiling with a glazed look in his eyes and pink drink in his hand, maybe a cosmo, and Fábio is, is he on Karim’s lap?- when he hears a soft accented voice. 

“Cristiano” and he loves the way he says his name; he’s already mesmerized so he drops the phone and looks up and Gareth is in his underwear, no he’s in _his_ underwear. 

Gareth is wearing CR7 underwear and he flies across the room and puts his hand on those hips perfectly framed in the tight underwear, “I wasn’t trying to hide from you I was just embarrassed I was wearing these and I didn’t want you to think I was the same boy you met a year ago who idolizes you, you’re much more than a name or a brand to me now” and Cris is listening to this sweet boy talk himself into a frenzy all he can think about is those underwear, Gareth has been carrying a piece of him all day and he’s basically branded himself with Cristiano’s name and he’s hungry. 

He doesn’t take what isn’t given but Gareth has just offered himself up on a silver platter so he’s gonna take it, all of it until he’s full.

He grabs his face and its fireworks when their lips touch, he licks his way into that delicious mouth and groans when he feels Gareth’s tongue curl around his own.

He starts to back Gareth up into the bed and they drop on the bed and he can’t resist grinding down and he grabs Gareth’s hip to get them moving with his.

He corkscrews his hips and grabs a handful of that enticing ass enclosed in his briefs and he bites down on Gareth’s lips when he hears a small whimper, he’s drinking the moans and desperate for more. 

He is in full control and it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of except for all this clothing, they need to get rid of those, now. 

 

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. 

Those are the extent of Gareth’s thoughts because he never expected this reaction from Cris. 

He had initially bought the underwear out of curiosity and he ended up loving them so he kept them and only Luka had seen him in them when he walked in on him one day, he could still remember diving behind his bed to escape his sight and Luka had laughed and laughed and laughed. 

He’d made him promise not to say anything and only an hour of begging and pouting had gotten him to agree and he had forgotten about them ever since, until now. 

When he remembered he had them on he wanted to melt into the carpeted floors and disappear because how could Cristiano take him seriously as a potential lover with those on?

He tried to run away and hide in the bathroom where he could take them off and Cris would never know what a fanboy he actually was, he knew he had Cris after he pleaded with him to let him go but he underestimated his own desire to please Cris especially when he was being so amazing and thoughtful. 

Cristiano was worth more than his pride so he opened himself up for ridicule and as usual Cris doesn’t let him down but he does surprise him beyond his wildest dreams, and he’s had many wild dreams. Cris attacks. 

That’s the only way to describe it. 

They are currently grinding on his amazing bed and Gareth is pinned under the comforting weight of that unbelievable body and Cris has thrown his clothes across the room and they are both down to their undergarments, both in CR7 originals. 

He needs more this is frustrating he’s done with the foreplay, they’ve both been waiting too long for this moment. 

He rocks up and Cris’ grip tightens and he realizes how dominating Cris is acting, his hands are pinned above his head and every movement results in a growl from the forward and he realizes something else……… he loves it. 

He loves being held down, he loves Cris’ growling, he loves everything about this controlling man. 

“Cris I need you, please please” and that’s all it takes his briefs are ripped off his body and he sees another pair join them and they are touching from toe to chest. 

And that’s Cris’ erection on his and he sees a starburst of colors, he’s big, wow he’s bigger than he expected and his skin is burning hot and he’s big, did he already mention that? 

“Thanks babe I’m glad you approve” Cris chuckles grinding down harder and oh gosh, he’s said that out loud why is he so daft? 

But he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed –yes he does he’s blushing red rouge- because Cris is rubbing his fingers across is mouth and opening them and his fingers are in his mouth and he’s sucking on them, drawing them in deeper moaning at the slight salty taste and he’s looking up at Cris and his eyes are blown with only a thin rim of coffee brown, his pants are loud in the quiet room and he drives his fingers deeper playing with Gareth’s pink tongue. 

“Dios, look at you taking me so good, fuck Gareth I love your mouth do you want something bigger? Do you want me to fill you up baby?” and Gareth nods enthusiastically so much that Cris’ fingers pop out and the sound is obscene and Cris’ face is just as obscene and it’s all he can take, if Cris wants his mouth he’s gonna get it. 

“Let me up I wanna be on top” and Cris pauses and looks down at him “I like being on top and you certainly don’t seem to mind” “I need room to suck your cock” and that gets Cris moving as fast as Bartra as he chased Gareth down the pitch to no avail. 

Cris flips them over and he looks like a king waiting to be served and that makes Gareth giggle because that is exactly what Cris is. 

Little Cris, well not so little Cris is standing at attention and Gareth has never done this before, he's always been able to appreciate a good looking man and he's gotten a few offers but he’s never wanted another man until Cris. 

"Just lick me like a lollipop” the asshole says and he really needs to stop listening to that little weezer guy he is a horrible influence but he decides to follow the advice and lick it, like a lollipop. 

Mmmmm it tastes nothing like a lollipop but it taste just like Cris and that’s far better, he mouths the tip tounguing the mushroom head and hearing Cris groan as he slides his mouth down the shaft until, oh he’s at the bottom. 

He’d forgotten he had an almost nonexistent gag reflex so he sucks up and down licking the prominent vein on the side and when he comes out of his own head he can hear all the filth Cris is spewing. 

“Fuck Gareth you’re amazing, how are you taking it all? Suck me harder yes yes baby I want to you to feel me for days, open up baby I think we can go deeper I want to be in your throat” and he lifts his hips and grabs Gareth’s head and fucks up slowly drilling down his throat and it burns but he wants it he wants Cris to use him until he’s satisfied so he loosens his mouth and he can feel that huge cock down his throat and he can’t help but moan. 

“DAMN! Stop stop stop” Cris is frantic and he’s pulling Gareth’s head back but he doesn’t want to stop so he fights back using his tongue and grabbing Cris’ hips to hold him in place, licking the shaft from bottom to top, wrapping his tongue around the head and slurping.

Cris is shaking and he knows he’s about to come and he wants it so badly so he keeps sucking “Gareth no stop! Damn I want to come inside you, inside you” and then he stops. 

He pulls off with a soft pop and he knows he must look a mess with spit all over his mouth but the Cris is looking at him like he’s never seen him before, a kind of shocked awe and he thinks maybe he went too far Cris had said no “I’m sorry I should have stopp-“ “Callate that, that was amazing. Don’t apologize for the best blow job I’ve ever gotten, I just didn’t want to come like that. I told you I would open you up and fill you up with pieces of me and I meant it” and while Gareth is salivating Cris throws him off to the side. 

Woah he’s on his stomach and that’s Cris breath on his ass.

He’s never had anyone back there, ever. He’s beyond nervous and then those are hands kneading his bum slowly rubbing up and down and his breath ghosts over the hole and ughhhhh his brain just restarted. 

“I’m going to eat you now Gare I can’t just look anymore I need to taste you” and he pushes his ass back and then Cris is pulling his cheeks open, bunching them up in his large hands and then his tongue slithers up the split before pushing in. 

Cris is pressing harder and harder trying to breach him but he can’t seem to get in and Gareth wants to relax but this is nothing he’s ever done before. 

Cris is getting frustrated he can tell by the low rumbling behind him and he’s about to apologize when there’s a _smack_ on his ass, high near the melding of back to ass and he jerks forward and his body clenches as first but then it loosens and he feels the wet appendage inside of him. 

The tongue is unforgiving its curling around and there’s a light suction against his hole and he moans and presses his ass back even more to get it deeper because this is nothing he’s ever felt before and he needs more. 

Smack! Cris’ hand is hot metal on his ass but he likes it, he likes being spanked and then Cris adds a finger alongside his tongue and Gareth is overstimulated and he tries to rock into the bed to get some friction and release but Cris quickly drags his ass up making his back arch in an unnatural way. 

 

He can’t stop hitting that taut sweet ass in his face, every time he does it tightens and he can’t help but imagine how those contractions would feel on his cock and it makes him so hard he could drill his way through his bed and still be hard as granite. 

He was hesitant at first but after seeing and hearing the reaction he knows that he’s not the only one enjoying this, kinky little wanker. 

Gareth is beautiful like this with his back arched and his ass up in the air like an animal presenting itself to its mate and it’s all he can do not to just pull his tongue and finger out and put something much bigger in. 

He runs his free hand down the nubs of Gareth’s spine until he reaches his neck and slithers into his hair and pulls it and he’s never been so thankful of its ridiculous length, he’ll convince him to cut it soon but right now it’s a brilliant way of maneuvering his boy. 

There is a light sheen of sweat covering Gareth’s slim muscled body and if his tongue wasn’t busy he would be licking it off and drinking it down. 

That rose pink asshole is loosening around his tongue and finger so he adds a second finger and slowly scissors them apart. Gareth is whining and squirming under him and he loves it the boy is so damn responsive to his every touch, he wants to make him scream.

He _needs_ to make him scream. 

Enough, he pulls back licking once more to savor that sweet virgin taste and Gareth all but collapses on the bed panting and groaning. 

“No no don’t stop please Cris please” it’s too sexy he’s never had someone need him so badly “Don’t worry baby we’re just getting started I’m gonna give you what you need” and he’s in the drawer getting the condoms and lube when the condoms are taken from his hands and thrown across the room. 

“No condoms we get tested all the time we’re clean just lube me up and get your cock in me” and Cris wishes he could record this, where is his shy blushing Gareth, who is this aggressive sex kitten?

“You have a dirty mouth I thought I had already fucked the sass out of it but I can try again from this end” and then he’s squirting the unscented lube onto his finger and Gareth is twisting his head over his shoulder to watch, blue eyes hazy with lust and something else that makes them bluer than he’s ever seen.

God he’s beautiful. 

And all his. He loves his life. 

When he feels his fingers are moist enough, he brings them to Gareth’s hole and presses in with one smooth motion and damn he feels incredible so tight and warm. 

His fingers are pumping in and out and he’s almost hypnotized watching himself inside Gareth and Gareth is pushing back trying to force him to speed up, but he’s resistant he wants to enjoy this plus he’s in charge here, hard smack to remind his boy. 

Two fingers now, twisting turning until “OH!” and he knows he’s found it and he curls his finger and presses against it and Gareth is screaming now thrashing around on the bed. 

He holds out for as long as he can but he’s only a man despite what his fans might think and he’s been half hard since he walked on the pitch to congratulate his boy. 

He pulls his fingers out and rubs the excess lube on himself, moaning a little when he makes contact and oh that’s Gareth’s hand on him too. 

He releases his cock and begins to thrust into the warm circle of Gareth’s hand until it’s not enough and he draws back it’s hard to catch his breath but he rasps out “How do you want to do this?” and there’s no movement until there is and he’s face to face with his perfect boy.

“Like this” he says and he has the audacity to look down and act like he can recapture any bit of that innocent act Cris is tempted to remind me how he was just begging for cock not five minutes ago, but he’s got more important things to deal with now. 

Like Gareth’s cock which he hasn’t given any attention tonight, he wraps his hand around the impressive shaft and strokes up and down while fondling his balls. 

Gareth is splayed on the bed and his face is blotchy and red and he’s biting that beautiful red mouth and his hair is spread across the pillows and Cris thinks he is temptation personified. 

He’s humping Gareth now lubed cock slipping between his cheeks and it feels phenomenal but it’s not enough, he lets go of Gareth’s weeping cock to grab his own and line it up with the pink hole beckoning him, in. 

The first slide in is enough to make his cock want to explode and he needs to take deep, deep breaths to keep himself together. 

“Are you okay?” he says needing to know because he can see the obvious discomfort on his new lover’s face and he gets a mild grimace and “You're really big it feels like I’m being split in haf” and he can hear the thickening of his accent and he’s always liked Gareth’s voice but it’s especially arousing now. 

He waits mentally telling his balls _soon soon_ rubbing his hands up Gareth’s stomach and taking his cock, bringing it back to full mast and he’s so focused on pleasuring Gareth he doesn’t notice that he has started to move and fuck up onto Cris’ cock in a slow sensuous motion, one that Gareth would never attempt on the dance floor but he’s mastering now. 

His hips are responding before his brain makes a conscious decision and they’re off, he pounds into Gareth pulling back until he’s almost completely out and driving back in like it hurts to be out for too long. 

Gareth is chanting his name “Cris, Cris, Cris” and it’s more intoxicating than the thousands that cheer it in the Bernabèu because this is the man he loves and he’s giving himself away, body and soul. 

The sound of smacking skin fills the room and it reminds Cris of what he wanted and he’s eager to do it, he makes sure he has a tight grip on those hips and quick as lighting he flips them over, the new angle dragging Gareth even further down his cock. It feels amazing.

Gareth must agree because he doesn’t question the switch he happily accepts his new position and places his knees on either side of Cris and then he’s pulling himself up slamming back down, ah, ah, ah! 

Up and down, up and down he goes riding Cris like a wild bronco with his hands on his chest raking down and leaving red welts in their wake. 

Cris has never seen this side of Gareth and he hopes no one else has either because if they have that will be their first and last time, this is all his now, all the time. 

He brings his hands around to that smooth ass that’s sucking him in so good and he smacks it hard and fuck he was right those contractions feel incredible on his cock! 

He smacks Gareth again and again and again feeling the ass smart as he hits it he knows it’s most likely bright red at the moment but all he can think about is how amazing the squeeze feels around his dick and how the walls of Gareth’s ass flutter after every blow. 

Gareth is slowing down now his movements up and down are staggered and he’s losing his pace “Getting tired baby? Did I finally fuck the sass out of you?” and Cris is smirking up at his boy waiting for the oncoming challenge, but none comes. 

“You fucked everything out of me, you fuck so good don’t stop don’t stop” and damn him for always surprising him zigging when he’s so sure he’ll zag. 

“I’m so close take me I can’t…” and he sounds so wrecked and there are tears in his eyes and Cris is not that cruel so he flips them one last time pinning down Gareth’s arms and he plows into him, balls hitting the underside of his plump ass cheeks. 

He watches his cock go in and out of Gareth’s abused hole and he drives harder, pushing as deep as he can, branding Gareth from the inside out.

It’s not deep enough still, he makes a quick decision and release Gareth’s hands to move his legs that been locked around his waist on top of his shoulders.

This takes him deep and now Gareth is bent in half and he can barely move and Cris feels like a predator devouring its prey. 

He pounds that ass until Gareth is screaming bloody murder his voice echoing off the walls, he quickly prays that Fábio is still out with the others because he doesn’t want the idiot coming over to see what’s going on. 

Cris can feel himself closing in and he needs to finish Gareth first so he leans down and takes those little pink nipples in his mouth biting and licking them. 

He’s biting the right nipple when he feels Gareth tense up and he knows what’s coming so he leans back and watches, Gareth’s mouth is open in a silent scream and his eyes are squeezed shut and no that won’t do “Open your eyes baby” and his command is automatically obeyed and isn’t that a turn on they’ll have to explore that later. 

Gareth keeps his eyes open until he comes, rolling into the back of his head and his come is hot where it shoots and lands on Cris’ chest and even as far as his neck. 

Gareth collapses after his orgasm seemingly boneless and Cris is so proud he did that but he’s still hard and he needs release, he’s scared to hurt Gareth if he’s oversensitive but he needs this his struggle must show on his face because Gareth sleepily says “Don’t stop until you’ve come in my ass” and starts to move up to meet his thrusts again and he’s coming, hard and fast fucking the now loose hole until he has nothing more to give and his come is so much it’s starting to leak out of Gareth’s ass. 

He stuffs his cock in a futile attempt to keep it all in and groans when Gareth tightens his muscles to assist. 

It's too much pleasure bordering on pain and he pulls out and collapses and everything is white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HATTRICK!!! So these updates are coming pretty fast because I've had a lot of free time over this break, so enjoy! This is the climax essentially but the story will continue to go on as I have many more ideas for these boys, but enjoy the naughty bits, next update will probably be Friday or Saturday I'm just editing. Comment away, those fuel me.


	4. Tocado

When Gareth awakes, his body hurts all over in the best way possible, in places he’s never experienced soreness before. 

His legs are solid as a bowl of soup and he heats up just thinking about the pull in his….. lower regions. They must have moved in their catatonic sleep because Cris is no longer on top of him, instead lying on his back peacefully sleeping with nary a line on his perfect face, looking as innocent as Gareth has ever seen him. 

He takes a moment to bask in his pure beauty, eyes sweeping across high cheek bones and veering down to those lips that wrecked him the previous night. 

He begins tracing those heavenly lips with his long fingers, tracing the fuller bottom, then ascending to the bow of his top lip. He’s so enchanted he doesn’t notice the press of Cris against his hip. 

He peeks down and it’s just as big as it was last night, half hard and intimidating even in its half flaccid state. 

He quickly wonders how he was able to fit all of that inside his mouth and then blushes when he recalls where else it had plundered. 

That thought is enough to shake him out of his musings, and he realizes he’s in desperate need of a shower-he’s a sticky mess, and …..oh gosh, he can feel dried…… substance on his upper thigh, that must have leaked from-nope, he’s not even going there, he’s going to wash it all off before he explodes from embarrassment. 

He moves as gently as he can as to not wake his peacefully sleeping Portuguese and makes his way out of the bed, stopping momentarily because he remembers he’s naked. 

_Should I put something on?_ He wonders to himself. _Seriously, Gareth, does it really matter? He’s asleep and he’s already seen it all. It’s a short walk to the bathroom. You’re quick, you can make it. They don’t call you “Bullet Bale” for nothing._ Satisfied with his inner monologue, he makes up his mind and stands up again, ignoring the twinge of pain from his sudden movement. 

The bathroom is as lavish as the rest of Cris’ house and he knows he will fully appreciate it once he’s showered and sobers up from being love drunk. 

He gasps when he sees himself in the mirror; hickeys litter his neck and his lips are swollen and red, but his eyes are the most shocking: he looks _happy_ , as happy as he’s ever seen himself, eyes twinkling and he smiles at his reflection. 

The cold water feels refreshing on his face and he rinses out his mouth and feels a bit more awake than when he first entered. 

He makes his way over to the grand shower, which seems large enough to hold far more people than a shower should, and he wonders how many people Cris has had in his shower at once? 

He stops himself before that thought can go any further, he’s jealous and just imagining things- that was before them, before _this_ , so he won’t think on that anymore.

He’s the only one here now and that means everything to him. The shower is not difficult to figure out and he sets the water as hot as he can, always preferring his smoldering showers and knowing that the hot water will help sooth his aching body. 

His moans echo off the bathroom walls and he is suddenly in a sweltering heaven. Nothing has ever felt this good- _No, that’s a lie_ , his mind provides and an image of Cris flashes in his mind, towering over him. 

 

Cris wakes up feeling so sated. 

His bones feel like jelly and he feels like he never wants to leave his bed, but nature is calling, so he rolls over to see his bed mate, ogle him a bit, and go tend to his needs. However, he turns over to see that the bed is empty; there’s a Gareth shaped imprint on his bed where his Welsh lover should be, but isn’t. 

He panics for a second; where is Gareth? Did he leave, was he somewhere freaking out right now thinking that their relationship had been dismantled? 

He jerks up, frantically searching for his pants when he sees… Gareth’s clothes, all of his clothes scattered across his carpeted floors. His whole body sags in relief-he didn’t realize how heartbroken he would have been if Gareth had snuck without saying anything to him, like he was some regret he couldn’t get away from fast enough. 

Suddenly, he hears a sound, so he stops his deep thought to listen carefully. 

That’s his shower running. 

Gareth is taking a shower in his bathroom and he’s out here worrying, when he could be in there enjoying the view of that wet, luscious body. 

That gets him moving as fast as Pepe when he offers to buy him empanadas-he really does not need to be thinking about the Portuguese goofball when his boy is showering all alone without him there to help get him extra clean, touching every crevice. 

Damnit, now he’s getting himself excited, more excited than he was when he first woke up and remembered everything that had occurred the night before, Gareth’s moans running on repeat in his mind. 

Now he’s more motivated than ever to get out of bed. 

He doesn’t bother dressing, knowing how counterproductive that would be to his plans, and he’s very comfortable with his naked body-he’s worked very hard on it, thank you very much. When he steps into his bathroom it feels like a sauna-the entire room is filled with steam. 

It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust, and then-then he’s thanking ever deity he can think of for this gift he’s been besotted with. 

He can see Gareth’s body through the clear gloss of his shower doors and he looks……. _incredible_. Hair plastered down, body slightly pink from the heat of the water-Cris lets his eyes wander all over that body he’s gotten to know so well. 

He doesn’t know where to start, wanting to look everywhere at once when his eyes are drawn down, to that bum-perfectly round and supple. He remembers how it felt in his hands, and how tightly it squeezed around him. 

He takes his fill looking up and down, groaning as Gareth begins to wash his hair and rubs soap all over his body, running his hand down the split of his ass, cleaning up the mess Cris made. 

That’s enough, he tells himself. He’s done looking. He’s a man of action-he’s Cristiano Ronaldo, for God’s sake. He swiftly opens the shower doors and steps in. 

 

Gareth immediately feels the chill behind him and he turns so fast that he almost slips-but a sudden hand on his hip helps him regain his balance.

“Careful, you don’t want to fall and hurt that beautiful ass, that’s my job.” 

The hand on his hip makes it way to said ass and grips it tight, and he can’t help the wince that leaves his mouth. 

He feels his cheeks go redder not wanting his lover to know how much their passionate love making affected him, and he looks up to tell him that he’s fine, just a bit sore, when he meets those coffee colored eyes and sees that Cris is gazing down, mesmerized by his neck. 

The hickies. “Oh, um, it’s okay, I can cover them don’t worry about it,” he consoles, not wanting Cris to feel guilty about the dark red marks-he knows they both lost themselves last night acting in ways they wouldn’t normally. 

He shivers when he feels soft touches on his marked neck, rubbing them in soothing circles. 

He relaxes into the caresses, closing his eyes and whimpering his approval.

“I’m not sorry,” Cris smirks. “You look like you belong to me, wearing my marks. Don’t think for one minute that I’m letting you cover up any of these. They are staying right there, where everyone can see them and know that you belong to someone. Maybe that will stop the wandering hands.” 

Gareth has never heard the Portuguese star sound so possessive and he’s not sure exactly what wondering hands he’s alluding to, but he doesn’t care because their hips are slowly rocking together and that has all his attention. 

The hands on his neck are slithering down, down until they reach his nipples and _ohhhhhh!_ They are twisted and pinched and he feels a circuit run through his body to his aching cock, causing him to close his eyes and moan deep in his chest. 

“I thought you left,” Cris whispers, and those four words are enough to douse his fire like a bucket of ice cold water. 

Before this goes any further he needs Cris to know how impossible the chances of that happening is. He was scared yesterday and let Cris’ words of love go unanswered, he won’t make that mistake twice. 

Gareth opens his eyes, and begins to say what he should have said much sooner. “I love you too. That’s what I should have said yesterday when you told me how you felt. I love everything about you: your confidence, your insecurities, the way you hate to lose, the small laugh lines you get, and the way you make me feel. Before I met you, I thought I loved you, but honestly I could never comprehend what truly loving you entailed. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done because I never had a choice, and if I did, I would still choose you.” 

There it is-he’s said it. 

He expected to be scared, or nervous, but he’s actually quite relieved. Cris bared his heart yesterday, and it’s only fair that he do the same, but it’s more than that- he’s been going into this with one foot out the door and he’s done with all that. He’s ready to take a leap of faith. 

He’s maintained eye contact the entire time he’s spilled his heart out so he sees the way Cris ‘ face softens, from hungry predator to speechless wonder. 

He seals his confession with a kiss, placing his hands on the side of Cris’ face and smashing their lips together, his tongue slipping into that dirty talking mouth, coaxing Cris’ tongue to play with his. 

Cris allows him to dominate the kiss, following his lead and keeping his movements slow. Their lips meet again and again in their languid dance, neither wanting to break this spell they seem to be under, until it’s not enough and the flame rekindles. 

Cris backs him up into the shower walls and then he’s gone-well, his lips are gone, and he’s lower, level with Gareth’s crotch. Before he can word his confusion, he’s encased in wet warm heat, and he can’t control the moan that rips out of his mouth. 

Then he’s being swallowed whole and all thoughts exit his mind. Cristiano is not hesitant in his skills-his tongue is swirling around the head of his cock like a tornado, wrecking him in the best possible way. 

One hand fondles his balls while the other rubs against his hole, not quite breaching, but teasing around it, driving him crazy. 

Gareth can’t stop gasping and squirming, he feels overstimulated and then Cris slides off his cock and his voice is pure sex. 

“You’re such a mess baby, you like the way I suck you? I need words. Tell me how good this feels or I’ll stop. Come on, use your words.” 

Gareth starts scrambling to coherently string words together in his head, he will surely die if Cris stops now, he will do anything to make sure he never stops. “Don’t stop, _pleasepleaseplease_ , I need you, I need you, Cris!” He hits the back of Cris’ throat and those teasing fingers pound into his swollen hole, his balls are squeezed and he’s flying high, gone. 

 

Hearing Gareth proclaim his love for him, all of it had pushed him over the metaphorical cliff and Cris was left speechless for the first time in his life. 

The only response he could come up with was taking him apart and making him speechless as well. Gareth had made the dirtiest little sounds as he sucked him off while fondling his body, he had gotten so hard just listening.

He needed a bit more to take him over the edge, so he made his boy beg for him, his accent never failing to turn him on and he begged so prettily, following Cris’ commands so eagerly. 

His boy was now sitting on the shower floor, head tilted back away from the spray of the water, panting in and out, looking like he had just run a marathon or a few extra laps in training. 

He couldn’t help preening at the way he was able to turn Gareth out. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here. We can take a bath in my tub,” Cris says, turning off the water and dragging his boneless lover out of the shower and into the bathtub residing right next to it. 

He had filled the tub up before ambushing the young Welshman in the shower, thinking the bath would be more useful for his tired muscles. He helped Gareth into the tub first and slipped in behind him, pulling Gareth back onto his chest and wrapping his arms around his waist, breathing in the scent of his shampoo in Gareth’s wet hair. 

The water was a bit cooler but it felt wonderful after the heat of the shower. Cris takes a soft sponge and proceeds to clean his boy. After everything they’ve done, washing Gareth feels more intimate-his boy is allowing him to see him in all his glory, undone and raw, and he’s never seen anyone so beautiful. 

God, everyone was right; they had both been so oblivious to what was happening between them. 

“If this is what I get for saying I love you, I will say it every single day,” Gareth pipes up, breaking the silence, and Cris chuckles at his playfulness, ruffling his hair the way he knows bothers him. Gareth jumps in his lap, attempting to move out of his grasps and making an indignant sound as he smacks Cris’ hand away. 

He feels Gareth turning in his lap until they’re face to face, and his smile is so bright, the sun would be jealous. 

He leans forward and plants a sweet chaste kiss on his lips. Cris cannot describe his behavior as anything but adorable. One, two, three times he kisses him, pulling back every time Cris tries to slip his tongue into his mouth, damn little tease! 

Gareth continues his game until Cris growls his frustration and grabs him to plunder his mouth, leaving no spot untouched as he rocks up into Gareth’s ass, which is hovering over his renewed erection. 

“Wait, I think I hear my phone,” Gareth exclaims, but Cris could care less about anyone else as he holds Gareth’s waist in his hands, grinding up and groaning at the friction on his swollen cock, turning his head back to him and forcing their lips together. 

“I need to be inside you, are you too sore?” he questions, praying that the answer is no because he needs a release. 

He thinks he has his answer when Gareth lifts up off his lap, and he’s disappointed, but he won’t pressure him, he can give himself a hand. 

But then there are hands on his shoulders, and Gareth’s glazed blue eyes are burning into his as he starts to lower himself back down onto his cock. He reaches around to hold himself to ease his way in and…… it’s sweet heat. 

He gives Gareth time to adjust to his girth, despite his desire to drive up and force his boy to ride him until he collapses. 

“Mmmmm, you feel so good, I’m so full, Cris, please,” and he’s off, snapping his hips up while simultaneously pulling Gareth’s hips down to meet him in a loud _smack!_

He can hear the water sloshing in the tub and knows it spilling onto the floor and he will need to mop that up later, but Gareth has become alive on his lap, riding him hard, meeting all his thrusts. 

Their hips meet in loud smacks that echo throughout the bathroom and Gareth is tightening on his cock ever so often, his moans are music to his ears a song that he will never tire of hearing. He looks down to where they are joined watching his cock enter that small pink hole, ramming himself deeper before pulling completely out and slamming back in. 

Nothing has ever felt this good.

He tenses his legs and plants them for what he needs to do next. He takes Gareth’s slim waist and pushes up, lifting Gareth with him and swallowing his squeal of surprise. 

He backs him into the corner of the tub, where he begins his assault, fucking down into that abused hole like a jackhammer, drilling him until Gareth pulls away to scream his release and he feels a sticky splash on his chest. 

Gareth’s hole spasms around his cock and it’s too much for him-after three hard pumps, he’s coming too, biting down on that neck bared in front of him. They are a mess of tangled limbs and aching bodies and he pants into the nook of Gareth’s decorated neck. 

“I don’t think we can shower together if we actually want to get clean.” Gareth chuckles as he pushes Cris back, and his cock slips from the now red hole and he watches it all in awe, hand reaching out to touch instinctively only to be knocked away and reprimanded. “No, no more touching. I feel like I’ve had a Coke bottle up my bum. _I_ need to go lay down and _you_ need to keep your hands off my arse.” 

Gareth steps out of the tub and makes his way back into the bedroom. Cris watches that ass bunch up as he walks away from him and he knows he’s going to have a very, very hard time keeping his hands to himself. 

He drains the water from the tub and brushes his teeth quickly before making his way out into the bedroom as well, only to be greeted by the sight of a naked Gareth on his bed lying face down with that ass up in the air taunting him “Gareth,” he growls out dangerously, hearing a low, “Shut up, just don’t look at me. I can’t lay on my back thanks to you and I’m too tired to get under the sheets.”

He meanders over to his lover, placing a hand on his thigh and rubbing up and down, hitching his hand higher until there’s a pillow in his face. 

“I will throw your precious Golden Boot at your head next,” Gareth warns, eyes on his glistening trophy on the night stand next to a picture of him and Cris Jr. from their Christmas photo shoot. 

He’s about to offer the angry Welsh a thorough oiled massage when he sees his phone ringing, and a picture of he and Fábio from the World Cup pops up on the screen. Cris sighs, because this was probably a blessing-he doubts Gareth would have appreciated his offer.

Resigned, he presses the Talk button. “What do you want motherfucker?” He answers, exasperation coloring his tone, and he hears Fábio’s breathy chuckle. “What’s got your panties in a twist princess, Gareth decide he want a real man and leave you for Arbeloa?” The asshole replies and Cris wishes he could reach through the phone and strangle the idiot for putting that horrible image in his mind. 

“ _Filho da puta_ , I’m gonna tell Sergio you secretly love flamenco music and that you want to ride home with him and Iker from now on.”Fábio screams _NO_ and they shift into Portuguese and do what they do best: Insult each other and generally act like little boys. 

 

 _Thank God_ , is Gareth’s first thought hearing Cris answer his phone.

But then, he gets curious as to who the Portuguese is threatening with Sergio and his obsession with that horrible music that Gareth sometimes listens to when Sergio forces his earphones into his ears claiming, “You’ll love this song!” 

He’ll smile and nod, but silently pray that Iker or Marcelo will come and distract Sergio long enough for him to sneak away without insulting the Spaniard. 

He flips over onto his side, silencing a groan, not wanting to ramp up Cris again after seeing what his sounds can do to the insatiable sex machine, because his ass needs a long break, _thank you very much_. 

His phone is lit up with messages and he replies to his mum first, informing her that he will be home soon and he misses her as well, smiling at her excitement at his goal and her insistence that he’s the best footballer in the world, excluding Cristiano because she knows he will deny it otherwise. 

He makes a note to send her some flowers and call her later, missing the sound of her voice. 

Suddenly, he’s getting a call from Alvaro, which is strange, Gareth thinks. But, it would be rude not to answer, and Cris seems pretty busy over on the other side of the large bed, speaking in rapid Portuguese and laughing at whoever he is speaking to; based on his antics and the language switch he would guess Pepe, Fábio, or Marcelo, Cris’ best friends. 

He answers the phone before he misses the call and Alvaro quickly congratulates him on his “superb run and beautiful finish,” and Gareth quietly thanks him, still resistant to all these compliments he’s been receiving lately, but understanding that that his teammates are very excited. 

“I missed you last night, you didn’t come out with the others-they said you were busy, and then Marcelo yelled out, ‘More like, _getting busy!_ ’, and everyone started laughing, what exactly did he mean?” Gareth doesn’t know how to answer that- he’s not sure if he’s comfortable with a teammate knowing the change in his relationship with Cris, so he brushes it off. 

“I was tired, Cris drove me home because he doesn’t drink and he had no interest going out with the others.” Alvaro accepts his excuse and he breathes a sigh of relief, until he feels a gaze on his face and he knows that Cris is looking at him. 

He tenses up when he hears Cris tell his phone partner he has to go and now, and then his full attention is on Gareth. 

Gareth shifts his body away, making it look natural, trying to avoid eye contact since Cris just heard him lying about last night, and he hopes he’s not angry at him. 

Alvaro doesn’t notice his discomfort and continues to chat him up, asking him what are his plans for his days off, and if he will be staying here and if he wants to get lunch with him later. He answers as vaguely as he can without seeming rude, telling Alvaro that he’s not quite sure about his plans yet and he will text him later to discuss lunch.

He can feel Cris beside him, unmoving, and his anger is almost palpable, so he knows it’s time to end this conversation and step into the lion’s den.

“Alvaro, I have to go, but I’ll let you know if I’m available for lunch later. Thanks for calling!” And with that, Alvaro bids him farewell and he places his phone back on the bed. He takes a deep breath, and finds the strength to face the music. 

Cris is coiled, beside himself with anger and sitting in his briefs with every muscle (there are _so_ many muscles) standing at attention, straining under that smooth, tan skin, and his eyes….. they are burning with barely concealed disdain. 

Gareth reaches out to douse those flames. “Cris, I—I’m sorry, I don’t regret what happened, I don’t. I just didn’t feel comfortable revealing our private life to our team mates.” Gareth is greeted with nothing but silence. 

All he can hear is the _boom boom boom_ of his heart, until- “Who was that?” surfaces from Cris’s lips. It’s not quite the response he was expecting, but it’s an easier question to deal with, rather than Cris asking him why he lied on the phone, so he’s eager to answer.

“It was Alvaro, he was wondering where I was last night,” and Cris seems to get angrier, his face contorting as if the name itself is displeasing to him. “That’s none of his business. And why did I hear you two talking about lunch? You’re not having lunch with him. You’re not leaving this house.” 

That statement _immediately_ rubs Gareth the wrong way, so he sits, up not wanting to be lower than Cris while they are having this conversation. 

 

“Cris, why are you so angry about me speaking to our teammate? And don’t presume to tell me what I can and can’t do, you don’t own me,” he bites out, knowing that he shouldn’t push back because stubborn is Cris’ middle name. 

He needs to calm down before this becomes a real fight, but he can’t seem to stop the flow of words. 

Of course, as expected, Cris pushes back. “Those marks on your neck say otherwise.” Cris reaches over to press on the bite mark he recently made after their dalliance in the bathtub, and he can’t help the gasp that breaks free as a result. 

Gareth jumps out of the bed and places some distance between them, not wanting his body to betray him any further. 

He needs to get out of here, _this_ is exactly what he was worried about-their relationship changing. He doesn’t want Cris thinking he can control him because they’ve had sex; he’s not something to be owned and locked away from others. He thought that Cris would be different, but his behavior right now makes him think that he might have been blinded because of his own affections. 

He picks up his scattered clothes and drags them onto his body. He has his shirt on and he’s attempting to button his pants but he can’t, his hands are shaking and his vision is blurred. 

Suddenly, he feels arms wrap around him. He wants to scream and push him away, but he feels so weak. 

“No, no, baby don’t cry, I’m sorry. That wasn’t about you; that was about me. I’m so sorry, please stop crying. I was being a jealous idiot. I was talking to Fábio and he made a stupid joke about you and Arbeloa and I saw red, thinking about you with anyone but me. I didn’t mean to take out my frustrations on you" Cris soothes him. 

He moves further into Cris’ arms, needing comfort right now, his emotions are too close to the surface. 

He feels Cris leading him to a couch he didn’t notice was in the room, and they both sit down. Gareth grabs onto Cris when it appears he means to let him go. He sniffles and breathes in the pure scent of Cris, and feels his heart beat slowing and his head clearing. 

He _inhales_ …then _exhales_ … _inhales_ …then _exhales_ , until he feels more centered, and he can finally address what Cris just said.

“What did Fábio say?” He inquires quietly. “What would make you so jealous about me going to have lunch with our friend?” He hears a mumbled response, and that just won’t cut it, so he leans back from Cris’ embrace and stares right into his eyes, silently asking his question again, and Cris sighs. 

“He asked me if you had decided you wanted a real man and had gone over to see Alvaro.” 

Gareth is shocked by this admittance and his immediate reaction is, what else? Uncontrollable laughter. He feels it bubbling inside and he tries to tame it, but it erupts out of him and he’s crying from laughing so hard. He sees Cris’ face and he looks mildly insulted-that only fuels his laughter. 

He laughs and laughs until his sides hurt and there are no more sounds to make. He’s almost choking from the fit until he finally calms down and punches Cris in the shoulder.

“Are you _stupid_?” he laughs. Cris looks even more insulted, and he snickers under his breath. 

“I just told you I loved you and you’re worried about me leaving you for someone else! Cris, there is no one else. There never was. You had me from the moment our eyes met. When you’re around, I don’t see anyone else. Alvaro and I are just friends, he doesn’t see me like that. In fact, I’m pretty sure _you_ are the only one who sees me like that.” 

Gareth can’t believe that the Portuguese would actually be worried about him wanting anyone else-what else can compare to perfection?

Cris now looks like he just made a free kick in the final of El Clasico, and he drags Gareth back into his arms, rubbing his back and nuzzling into his hair.

“What did I do to deserve you? I don’t even care, I’m keeping you forever. I’m sorry I was jealous, but you have to know the way that others look at you, like you’re the last empanada on the table and they all want to take a bite. I don’t share, at all, and Alvaro definitely sees you ‘in that way’. If it was up to him, he would see you in _all_ ways, but you’re right, that doesn’t mean I can tell you what to do or who to see. I trust you.” 

The “I don’t trust him” is implied in the statement, but Gareth ignores that because Cris is clearly delusional: No one looks at him like a deep fried Spanish delicacy.

He feels Cris undressing him slowly removing the clothes he had thrown on in his blind rage and he grunts his disapproval. 

“Don’t worry, baby, it’s not for that. I know you’re tired. I just want to feel your skin. Let’s take a quick nap, and I’ll take you out for lunch.” 

Gareth decides to wait until later to ask Cris if they can invite Alvaro, so he can see how does not look at him in any special way, and prove to him how ridiculous and unnecessary his jealousy fit was. 

He’s too comfortable on the bed and Cris’ is rubbing his head. A nap sounds like a good idea, and he begins to doze off when he feels a wandering hand going a bit low for his liking. 

“Cris, I _wasn’t_ kidding about the Golden Boot.” The Portuguese huffs in annoyance, but he gathers Gareth into his arms. 

They can worry about everything later-they have everything they need right now: each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Cris is rearing its beautiful head and little Gare Bear is unaware of his raw sexual magnetism LOL! Will the boys ever leave the room, will Gareth's ass get a rest, will Pepe get more empanadas?? All these important questions will be answered in the next installation of the newly named "It's a love story, baby just say yes" courtesy of my beta and lover, mi Reina Miss Gray, who took this black coal of a chapter and made it a shiny new diamond! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and let me know by leaving a comment and kudos, they fuel me to write faster :D


	5. Daño I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are idiots again.

Cris is awoken by the sound of his front door opening and he’s immediately unnerved. _Who the hell is in my house? I’m the richest football player on the planet and yet someone can get through my security system_. 

His thoughts race through his mind until he hears the sound of someone tripping, most likely on one of Junior’s toys. No thief is that incompetent, so now he knows that his house is being invaded by his idiot best friend, and that idea is further confirmed by the sound of angry Portuguese curses. 

He looks over at the sleeping figure in his arms, and wow, does Gareth need to look that good even while he’s sleeping? 

He had woken up many times after their nap and been heavily tempted to touch his boy in his vulnerable sleeping state, but Gareth’s threatening words and earlier tears flashed through his mind and had discouraged him. 

He had fallen asleep very easily, and Cris did not want to risk possibly waking him because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. But looking at him now, he was surprised he had been able to dissuade his desires. 

Gareth resembled an angel in sleep: his lips were perfectly pouted, freckles delicately dusting his cheekbones and beckoning Cris, who had always liked the way that Madrid’s blinding sun had brought out the prominence of the specks. 

His eyelashes fanned across the high bridge of his cheeks and his face was slack in his rest, his body supple and warm and completely wrapped around his own. He was laying on his back and Gareth had all but climbed on top of him, arms thrown over his chest and leg slipped between the spread of his thighs. 

It was beautiful torture for Cris, who was delighted that Gareth was so desperate for his touch, but was struggling to keep himself from becoming aroused again. 

He was roused out of his thoughts when he heard Fábio attempting to be quiet and failing miserably-he might as well have gotten a pot and pan and announced his arrival like a drum line. 

Cris slipped out of Gareth’s hold, whom, he noted, tried to pull him back and whined quietly when Cris was able to squirm out of his hold. 

Gareth rolled onto his side of the bed, nuzzled his pillow, and sighed before falling back into a deep sleep. Cris couldn’t believe how precious and childlike his behavior was, and he couldn’t stop the smile that etched its way onto his handsome face. 

He picked up his shirt from the floor and quickly threw the rest of his and Gareth’s clothes into a hamper residing in the corner of his room. 

He took one more look at his sleeping boy, eyes raking over that unclothed body, before slipping out the door to go punch Fábio for using his key again when there was clearly no emergency. He found the blond haired man in his kitchen –as usual- eating his freshly picked veggies and reading his newspaper, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

Naturally, Cris walked up to him and smacked him in the back of his ridiculous head, only to hear a resounding, “Ow! Fucking hell!” and he couldn’t help but suppress his anger momentarily to laugh. 

Fábio sounded so stupid when he spoke in English, and his curses were particularly funny-he placed too much emphasis on the wrong part of the words, making it sound more like fuuuc-king.

“What are you doing in my house, in my kitchen eating my food?” Cris questioned while reading the paper over his friends shoulder, interested to see if their victory had made the news- and ah! They did, with Gareth getting his own spread and the title, “Wonder Boy” along with it, causing him to chuckle, already imagining Gareth’s blushing face when he shows him the photo they used of him: standing in a triumphant stance, with his legs spread obscenely and mouth open in a silent roar. 

Cris feels a warmth spread through him in response to the photo but Fábio’s presence easily stops that. “Stop perving on Gareth, I’m right here,” Fábio smirks. Cris glares back in response. 

“Are you seriously telling me what to do after you broke into my house? I could go upstairs right now and really ‘perv’ on him so you could hear,” he snipes back, enjoying the look of disgust that comes over the tanned face. 

“Please don’t, the neighbors have been scarred enough,” Fábio moans. “It’s a wonder no one called the cops as it is. But I guess they didn’t want to bother the great Cristiano Ronaldo, the savior of football,” Fábio sighs overdramatically while walking to the refrigerator to steal one of the ice pops that Cris only stocks up on for Junior. 

He shakes his head at his teammate’s unhealthy breakfast, if it can even be called that, and gets a frying pan to make some scrambled egg whites for himself and his sleeping lover. 

He’s adding a pinch of salt and pepper to the egg whites when Fábio starts, “So. You look rested. Did you actually sleep last night?” Cris rolls his eyes. “Yes, asshole, we slept for a few hours. After he became too exhausted to go for another round, that is.” Cris winks devilishly, and Fábio groans in disgust, but he smirks as well, and they both erupt into laughter. 

Suddenly, Cris is reminded of the group photo he saw last night. “Did you have fun last night? I saw a very interesting picture of you and a certain Frenchman looking pretty comfortable.” Cris raises an eyebrow, and Fábio laughs loudly and shakes his messy blond head.

“It’s not what you think! We were all very drunk and Karim was doing his impression of you, which he’s shockingly good at! And then everyone decided that I should imitate Gareth. So naturally, I had to climb in his lap and bat my eyes while singing his praises.” Fabio places his hands demurely under his chin and tilts his head to the side, fluttering his eyelashes. _“Cris, you’re so wonderful, you're the best player in the world, I can’t wait to learn off you!”_ He squeals in high-pitched English. 

Fábio’s attempt at Gareth’s accent is awful, but his words make Cris blush because he has listened to many (ergo, all) of Gareth’s interviews, and he’s very aware of his penchant for mentioning him. he's about to defend Gareth and ask exactly how long Karim has been imitating him when he hears a hoarse voice call out, “I do not sound like that!” and a flushed Gareth enters the kitchen, fully clothed (much to Cris’s chagrin. Fucking Fabio.) 

He’s dressed in Cris’s shirt and shorts, to be exact, and looks just as good as Cris had imagined he would (although in his imagination there was a glaring absence of pants, but Fábio’s presence has ruined those dreams. He really needs to reset his security system.) 

Gareth pointedly avoids making eye contact and seems unsure of himself and his placement in the kitchen. 

Cris fleetingly thinks to himself about how much Gareth’s courage always warms his heart: his lover was probably a nervous wreck when he heard them in the kitchen, but still came in and faced the situation head on. 

He can’t stop his feet from making their way over to the Welshman, but isn’t exactly trying to fight against the pull of his gravity-being in Gareth’s space has always felt natural to him. Gareth looks up just as he’s reaching to tilt his face up and their eyes lock, deep espresso meeting crisp blue, and Cris realizes he can count the amount of freckles on Gareth’s face. 

They are much closer than he has realized, and-oh! Their faces are moving closer as if they are opposite sides of a magnet, unable to fight their natural attraction. Cris places one hand on those ruby cheeks and goes in for a- 

“I think your eggs are burning,” Fabio’s voice drags them back to reality, and Gareth jerks away as if just recalling that they are not alone in the kitchen. 

“Buenos dias, Gareth!” continues Fábio, effectively killing any mood that was built up in the short span of Cris and Gareth seeing each other. Gareth awkwardly shuffles away from Cris to sit at the table with Fábio and quietly answers, “Good morning Fábio, how are you?” 

That’s all the blond hedgehog cock-block needs to begin talking Gareth’s ear off, telling him every minute detail of the team celebration last night, which included (but was not limited to) Sergio going skinny dipping and Iker chasing him round the hotel pool with a towel, and Karim and Rapha teaching Isco how to curse in French. 

Gareth’s huffs of laughter are enough for Cris to forgive Fábio for everything he’s done this morning. Except maybe the interrupted kiss, he thinks to himself bitterly. 

He shares the eggs (only slightly browned) onto a platter, grabs some fruits and bread, and brings it all back to the table. Gareth is enraptured by Fábio’s stories so much he doesn’t outwardly acknowledge Cris’ return. 

Cris does not like anyone else having that much of Gareth’s unadulterated attention so he acts impulsively, placing the food on the table and bending at the hip to place a kiss on Gareth’s opened mouth stuck in mid-laugh. His laughter subtlety morphs into a moan and Cris drinks it down, eager tongue swirling around, faintly tasting his toothpaste and something spicy that he can only categorize as Gareth. 

He bites down on Gareth’s bottom lip pulling it into his mouth and releasing it with a loud pop before grabbing his head to angle it sideways, getting a another taste of that long, slender neck. 

His mouth is practically watering in anticipation when Fábio clears his throat, and pulls the platter of food from underneath them. “Tsk-tsk-tsk, you two really shouldn’t have dessert before breakfast. It’ll spoil your appetite,” he says cheekily, eating directly from the platter. 

Peck. 

Cris places one last kiss on those lips before turning to glare at his now ex-best friend, knowing good and well that his frustration is visible on his face-he wants him to know that there will be hell to pay later. Fábio winks back at him, unaffected by his glare, and turns to Gareth to ask if he’s hungry while handing him a fork to eat from the platter as well-like this was his house, and he was the one who prepared the meal. 

“Idiot,” Cris mutters under his breath, and ultimately sits down to join in-at least he can stave off _one_ ; of his hungers. He’s munching on an apple when he glances over to see Gareth’s lips wrapped around a juicy ripe red strawberry, the juices running down the sides of his mouth, focusing intently on his pink nimble tongue as it slithers out to collect them. 

He loses complete interest in his own breakfast in favor of watching Gareth, who must be trying to kill him, now licking the remaining juice off his long dexterous fingers licking from knuckle to tip. 

He’s watching Gareth repeat the process when he notices Fábio’s gaze on him and honestly, he’s had enough now, it’s time that he leave so Cris can eat fruits off Gareth’s body like he now is oh-so vividly imagining. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He asks gruffly, and the wrong voice answers, “Oh, sorry! I’ll be out of your hair in no time, could you give me a ride back to the stadium perhaps to collect my car?” Cris turns to him in surprise. 

Gareth is not going anywhere anytime soon, he’s shocked that his boy would ever assume that he would ask him to leave so callously. Fábio jumps at the chance to throw a formidable wrench in Cris’ plans clearly knowing that the comment was directed at him, placing a soothing hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “Don’t worry man I can give you a ride. I forgot my favorite hat there, and I was gonna go get it so I could take some selfies in Cris’ backyard. We can head out when you’re finished eating.” 

Cris watches in shock as Gareth nods his agreement and throws a small grateful smile Fábio’s way, and then they both go back to eating and chatting as if he’s not sitting _right there._ He calmly places his fork down and wipes his mouth off with a napkin, standing slowly and looking at Gareth silently until he returns his gaze.

"Come with me,” he requests commandingly, leaving very little room for argument and leaving the kitchen before Gareth can even give a reply. 

He stops in his spacious living room sitting in a loveseat in the corner of the room listening to steps approaching him, until he feels added weight to the cushion he’s sitting on. Gareth sits down on the opposite side of the seat, his body an unforgiving straight line, giving off the appearance of a wayward student being called into the principal’s office (or Sese whenever Iker speaks to him after another careless tackle, and resulting yellow card). 

Taking Gareth’s balmy hands into his, he presses a kiss to the appendage. “Why are you avoiding me?” he asks boldly, not one to pussyfoot around an uncomfortable situation, and desperately wanting to know why Gareth has become so unsettled with him. 

Gareth glances up at him before his artic eyes flit away and focus on their joined hands.

His mouth opens and then immediately closes before any sound can escape. He waits to see if his boy will find his strength and please tell him what’s going on in that beautiful mind of his, but waiting just leads to more silence and unanswered questions. 

He tugs on the hand he’s holding, tugging Gareth across the surplus of space separating them, until their knees are touching. “Please tell me what’s wrong Gareth. Don’t pull away from me,” he begs, genuinely terrified that he’s done something unconsciously to make Gareth behave like this (and this is serious business, because Cristiano Ronaldo does not beg). 

His chest aches and he needs to make this right, right now. His mind flashes back to his behavior in the kitchen in front of Fábio: He had kissed him, unable to resist being overtly affectionate, knowing that Gareth felt uncomfortable with members of the team knowing about their intimate relationship. 

This was his problem-he wanted too much from his partners. He was desperate for everything, and wanted to drown himself in Gareth’s essence. 

Blinded by his own raging hormones, he hadn’t noticed how awkward Gareth must have felt, and should have kept his wandering hands to himself. If necessary, he would apologize and show Gareth that he could be better.

He was confident of his abilities to make Gareth forgive until he heard the Welshman speak. “I-it’s not-you didn’t do anything Cris, I was just being naïve. I should have left earlier before this could become awkward, I didn’t know you and Fábio had plans. But I’ll get my clothes and neither one of you has to give me a lift, I can get my driver to come get me and be out of here in ten minutes,” Gareth stutters out, effectively ripping Cris’s heart out and wringing it dry, his blood running cold upon hearing the quiet defeat laced in Gareth’s voice. 

His first reaction is anger: how can Gareth, of all people, think so lowly of him? They had both poured their hearts out-had all of that meant nothing? 

His second reaction is anger: he’s angry at himself for pushing Gareth too far, and making him feel as if he has to leave to escape from him. His thoughts are raging, already thinking of ways to mask his heartbreak and disappointment. 

He’s more than used to people letting him down, thinking that their absence won’t hurt him because of who he is. Ex-teammates who acknowledge him less and less, assuming that he will abandon them and prompting them to beat him to the punch, never knowing that he might change jerseys but his affections for those he holds close is unyielding. 

He’s used to it, but it still hurts. He shakes himself out of his reverie to focus on the issue at hand: how is he supposed to let go of Gareth now that’s he’s gotten a taste of him? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s handling this all wrong; his gut is revolting against every decision he’s made since descending down the stairs and seeing Cris and Fábio in the kitchen, apparently performing a morning ritual that they were both fairly attuned to. 

He thought they would have a chance to talk about them before they saw anyone, and seeing Fábio unnerved him-he didn’t know how he was expected to act in front of the other Portuguese man. Cris apparently didn’t have that same qualm, and slipped easily back into seduction and dirty kisses that left his skin burning. 

He almost lost it when he saw Fábio eyeing the dark marks on his neck, even going as far as to wink and give him a thumbs up when Cris’ back was turned. 

Thankfully he didn’t go any further and settled down, ignoring Cris’ heated gazes and attempting to have a conversation with Fábio, when all he truly wanted to do was crawl into Cris’ lap and run his fingers through his messy brown curls, slightly flattened from sleep. In the light of day, all of his previous insecurities unearthed themselves, and he couldn’t stop thinking about their relationship. 

Cris was everything he ever wanted, and more than he deserved. What if this was all merely a result of their euphoria from their victory? Yes, Cris had proclaimed his love, but would he still mean it today? Tomorrow? Months from now? 

Tactile and affectionate-definitely descriptors of the Portuguese star who praised with his whole body, giving hugs and pats as easily as he breathed. 

Cris’s reaction to seeing him is as welcoming as it was the night before, his touches only slightly subdued because of Fábio’s presence. He kisses him like he’s the only person in the room, hell, in the world! 

It’s almost enough to quiet the negative voices in his head until Cris finally spoke, asking-no, demanding, that he leave; his presence was no longer needed. 

Gareth’s heart twinges at the thought. 

When Fábio offers to give him a ride he quickly agrees-he cannot imagine getting back into Cris’ car after what they had done on it, the images flashing through his mind even as he tries to block them out. 

He’s lost his appetite, ready to go retrieve his clothes and get out of Cris’s, feeling foolish for putting them on in the first place. 

He had been so certain Cris would enjoy seeing him and he thought he could rile him up a bit. Until Cris stands and his body goes ramrod straight in anticipation, heart stopping when Cris tells him to come. 

Damn his Pavlovian reaction to hearing those words come out of that mouth. “Gareth, are you okay mate?” No, he’s definitively not okay and he vaguely hears Fábio’s soothing words, but nothing is able to penetrate his whirlwind of thoughts. 

Despite the sensual undertone of those words he knows that Cris is about to let him down easy. 

He should have left when he had the chance, and now he’s gone and ruined everything. He’s shaking in his seat before a hand lands on his shoulder, gripping tightly, and he looks up. “Stop thinking so hard. Go to him. Whatever you’re thinking is wrong: he’s as gone on you as you are on him.” 

Gareth nods weakly at Fabio’s sage words, and his feet follow after the Portuguese on auto pilot. 

Sitting on that couch with Cris is tensed silence, until Cris begins to speak and he’s trying to placate Gareth, asking him what’s wrong and mentioning him pulling away, as if Gareth doesn’t have a right to protect his heart. 

Cris hasn’t done anything wrong and he can’t have him think that this is anyone’s fault but his own. Gareth is the one who assumed that this was permanent, losing himself in this obviously temporary release. It hurts to tell Cris that he accepts that what they had is over and that he will willingly walk out, when all he really wants to do is get down on his knees and plead to stay-anything to stop this from ending. 

Cris’ silence after his admittance is all the answer he needs. 

He needs to leave now before his heart shatters into pieces that he won’t be able to glue back together; this wasn’t how he envisioned any of this, but he’ll accept this for the gift it was. How could he possibly have thought that he could ever keep Cristiano Ronaldo? 

He steps away from the one person who has enough of him to break his heart, and heads to Cris’s room, collecting his clothes in a catatonic daze, eyes blurry and wet. There is a low _bzzzzz_ in the room as his phone vibrates in his pocket, forgotten. 

Once fully dressed, he sighs heavily, looking around the room and cataloguing every detail to memory, aware that this may very well be the last time he’s able to do this. 

To distract himself momentarily, he pulls his phone from out of his pocket and opens a message from Alvaro. _Hola, mi amigo! I was wondering if you still wanted to get lunch? I would very much like to see you =)._ He had planned on going home and perchance ringing his mum, her voice able to tend to his wounds like medicine in the worst of times. 

He realized that he had been sticking around in the hopes that Cris would come up the stairs and stop all this from spiraling out of control; that maybe he had misjudged everything and they were okay. 

Clearly, they were not: the only thing he had misjudged was their relationship. 

He types out a response to Alvaro without giving it much thought. _Yes I would love that_. He collects himself and musters every ounce of courage to leave, dreading the thought of having to face Cris one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a challenge so please excuse the brevity and I was on the ledge a few times but my beautiful beta was there to walk me off so thank you Miss Grey! Our boys are a little stupid in this one but the next chapter is already written and awaiting editing so don't get too sad my kiddies, the next chapter is super long to make up for this one and it should be posted by *drum roll* FRIDAY-ish if all goes well! Kudos and comments are my fuel!!


	6. Daño II

Fábio has known Cristiano for a long time, their friendship one of the staples of Real Madrid and the Portugal Nation team with everyone constantly joking that they are an old married couple; with the way they bicker and snide at each other. 

He’s not ashamed to admit that Cris is attractive man and at some point earlier in their relationship he might have seen Cris has a potential love interest but after seeing Cris with Gareth, around Gareth or even simply talking about Gareth, he knew that his pretty boy had eyes for one person and it was a fair skinned blue eyed Welshman. 

He had felt hesitant about coming over to Cris’ but his curiosity overpowered any sense of propriety and more importantly he didn’t have any more ice pops and he knew Cris had just stocked up in expectation of Junior visiting. 

Now he feels regretful, he had only been teasing when he’d offered Gareth a ride to the stadium wanting to ruffle Cris’ feathers after seeing how high-strung his best friend was once Gareth had entered the kitchen, in his clothes. Fábio knew those were Cris’ clothes having raided his closet on many occasions and received further confirmation when Cris’ eyes lit up with possession and hunger at seeing the young player. 

Seeing Cris with Gareth is bittersweet for Fábio personally, while he wants nothing more than to see Cris happy and in love a small part of him had always wished that they could find that comfort within each other. 

He could feel how uncomfortable his being there was for Gareth and the thought of leaving crossed his mind numerous times but he had missed Cris the night before and was feeling a bit neglected despite their short conversation the day before, granted he had spent most of the morning talking to Gareth and watching Cris salivate over the oblivious Welshman in his peripherals. 

He didn’t realize how serious his intrusion had been until Cris left the room demanding that Gareth follow and Gareth appeared to be having a mild panic attack of sorts in result, he couldn’t be the one to assist in ruining this for them ; the entire team would have his head! 

He watched Gareth leave the room as if he was walking to his execution instead of joining the man who was madly in love with him and he silently prayed that they would work it out because watching Cris pine once was quite enough. 

He busies himself offering them some form of privacy, picking up their dirty dishes from the table and opting to hand wash them inside of using Cris’ new state of the art dishwasher. 

_Zzzzz_ the familiar buzz of his phone drags him out of his thoughts minutes later, drying his hands on his shirt he quickly picks up his phone to see a text from Marcelo, _hola! Where r u? I’m bored wanna hang out?_

Seconds away from answering he hears a door open and close. Using his sprinter speed he goes out into the living room to see a crestfallen Cris on the couch, alone, looking like his whole world has ended. 

_Cris needs us_. 

He sends those words to Celo knowing he will be here as soon as possible.

“Cris are you okay? Where is Gareth, what happened?” he questions reluctantly fearing the answer because he has already pieced the clues together and they all point to a glaringly obvious conclusion. 

Cris doesn’t answer, Fábio is not even sure he’s breathing as this point his body is as still as a goalkeeper awaiting the direction of a penalty kick and he sits down next to him, placing an arm around his sullen shoulders. 

“Cris talk to me please, why did Gareth leave, why did you _let_ him leave?” and Cris is up like a sleeping lion awakened by a sudden noise, “Let him?! You think I wanted him to leave? I couldn’t make him stay, he didn’t want to stay I scared him off I ruined everything…... I ruined everything” his voice trails off and Fábio has never seen Cris this defeated, has never wanted to, the Cris he knows doesn’t give up, the word “quit” is simply not in his vocabulary. 

He doesn’t know what went wrong from their kisses in the kitchen to this moment but he knows Cris and he’s learned a lot about Gareth and he knows that they both are idiots and despite how obnoxiously _good_ they are at everything, they are both horrible at expressing themselves; hell look how long it had taken them to figure out they were in love with each other, he knew after seeing them in practice practicing free kicks that they had already perfected as an excuse to be together. 

Therefore he knows whatever went wrong can be fixed but first he needs to get Cris cooled down so he can cease his self-loathing and awaken his usual killer instincts, the one that many opponents have been the victim of on the pitch. 

“Vamos princesa let’s go back in the kitchen I’ll make you some tea and you can tell papa Fábio what happened” Cris’ body is malleable and he had been hoping the princess comment would get a reaction out of him but this might be a bit more serious than he had foreseen. 

Damn, where is Marcelo? He thinks dragging Cris along with him like a small child; he and junior have that in common they are both very silent and petulant when they are upset. 

 

Walking back down the spiraling staircase had been nerve wrecking for him, he knew he needed to get home and settle his thoughts before going to meet Álvaro but he was terrified to face Cris and ultimately say good bye; his driver had arrived and was patiently waiting to rescue him. 

Each step that he took brought him closer to an ending that he would do anything to delay but he had wasted enough time, taking extra care while dressing and branding that night into his mind; making a quick trip into the bathroom to imprint everything to memory, _this is it I need to leave._

Cris sat in the same exact position he had left him in, silent and unmoving, he looked onto him unbeknownst to the Portuguese star unable to look away from his beauty. 

Cristiano was gorgeous and he couldn’t believe that he had been his for even a minute much less an entire night, he would cherish what they had shared forever. “I- um I’m leaving now, thank you for everything” he awkwardly stuttered out cringing at his own ineptitude at getting clear words out. 

He could see the tension in Cris’ body and he was unsure of the cause, was Cris worried about their friendship or perhaps fearing the consequences of their night? 

He needed to let Cris know everything was okay, he would get past his foolish feelings and they would slip back into their relationship as friends Gareth was an expert at suppressing his feelings, especially his feelings for a certain Ballon D’or winner. 

“Please don’t worry about this it doesn’t have to mean anything, we, I am still your friend; we’ll always be friends” Friends. He wanted to laugh hysterically at that word, Cris was so much more than just a friend but he would say whatever was necessary to keep Cris in his life. 

He waited nervously for a response from Cristiano but nothing came, his head remained down and he gave no outward reaction to even acknowledge Gareth’s presence. 

_This must be what heartbreak feels like_. He had been naïvely wishing that Cris would stop him but it’s time for him to stop being that same young boy who joined Madrid thinking that all his wildest dreams would come true. 

He leaves. 

His memory is a blurred mess until he’s sitting in the backseat of the car he rang, his driver must have exited the car to open his door but he cannot remember anything at the moment. 

“Where would you like to go Mr. Bale?” he hears his drivers accented voice and his immediate thought his “home” but he loathes the idea of being alone with his thoughts right now so the text message he receives is a saving grace, _Good afternoon Gareth would it be too much trouble for you to come over to eat instead of going out? I feel that our victory will make us more popular than ever right now and I just want to spend a relaxing day with you_. 

Álvaro is right he can already imagine the flash of the paparazzi as they follow his every move and the swarm of fans that will come out to get his autograph and pose for pictures and he does not need any attention right now, he needs to lick his wounds and talking to Álvaro as always made him feel better.

“La casa de Álvaro Arbeloa” he finally answers taking the chance to practice the bit of Spanish he has retained from his weekly Spanish lessons, his driver has been to Álvaro’s house many times, he knows the address of all his teammates as a matter of fact. _I’m on my way_ he shoots off and settles in for the ride, Álvaro will help keep his mind off Cris at least for a little bit. 

He hopes. 

 

“Chico Maravilla!” he shouts greeting Gareth at the door with a copy of the newspaper with his triumphant pose emblazed on the cover, pleased to watch the blush crawl up those high cheek bones. 

He pulls Gareth into his arms finally able to personally congratulate the boy for everything he has done for their team with his incredible goal, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he has found lesser reasons to have the beautiful Welsh boy in his arms. 

He leads Gareth into the dining area where he has prepared a meal for them, nothing too extravagant but he knows his friend has missed English meals and a good spot of tea –Gareth’s exact words- so he’s had a few dishes flown in from Nando’s, the scent of PERi-PERi chicken, corn on a cob and natas fill the air deliciously. 

Gareth deserves all this and more for everything he’s done for Madridistas all over the world. 

“Oh my gosh!” Gareth shouts when he sees the spread eagerly making his way to the chicken to take a big bite and moaning as the flavor explodes on his tongue. 

_Dios_.

He desperately needs to sit down and get the boy talking so he can stop making those dangerously erotic sounds. 

“Glad you’re enjoying your feast” he chuckles watching Gareth try to stuff everything into his mouth at once, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk as if he needs to look more adorable than he already does. 

He sneakily picks up his phone to snap a picture of the happily eating boy to post on Instagram and Facebook account, he thinks carefully over his hashtags before deciding on a few; #WonderBoy, #Perfecto, #SuperBale, #VictoryMeal and #HalaMadrid the picture is perfect enough without any filters so with that he posts it and puts his phone away expecting hundreds of likes and comments in record time. 

“You really should read this article they’ve written about you it makes the rest of us seem like unneeded bodies, you’re a one man army: solo spectacular!” he mimics the booming voice of an announcer and Gareth reacts accordingly groaning in embarrassment but reluctantly reaching over to take the paper hoping to see what has been written about the rest of the team. 

“They also said that the entire team showed great heart and our defense was very impressive” he’s not surprised that Gareth would scour the paper for praises for the team and completely disregard his own, he looks on fondly while Gareth cleans his plate wanting to find out what he’s been up to since the win. 

He’s also hoping that today will be the day he can convince Gareth to watch Game of Thrones, the show is absolutely brilliant and the boy has seriously been missing out! 

“Thank you for all this I should have said that before devouring everything, my mum would be appalled by my horrendous manners” Gareth needlessly apologizes and he waves him off not insulted at all, he’s actually preening a bit at clearly making Gareth happy and that moan was more than payment enough; he will lock that away for further assessment. 

“Don’t worry about it I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, I’ve been missing you since we last parted and you’ve been a hard man to reach this weekend did you spend some time with Cristiano?” he flirts purposely incapable of holding his tongue when he’s around the Welshman and he knows that Gareth is unaware of his feelings writing his comments off as standard Spanish flirtation. 

What he’s not expecting is the way Gareth freezes and looks up as if he’s just scored a goal in his own goal post, his gorgeous blue eyes are wide and frightened and that pink mouth is open and slack, Álvaro adjusts himself in his seat and troops on to find out why Cristiano’s name would have such a drastic effect on Gareth. 

“Gareth what did Cristiano do? Did he say something to you?” he’s honestly shocked that he has to ask that question with their history, the two are inseparable and have become very good friends on and off the pitch; not taking into account the way that Gareth practically worships Cristiano. 

Despite his own affections for the young player he knows that Cris would never intentionally hurt him, the way he looks at Gareth is the same way that Álvaro knows he looks at Gareth, with unsatisfied hunger. 

Gareth is stock still in the chair until he notices a slight shake in his hand and his instincts kick in and he makes his way to the distraught boy, taking his arm and walking him to a couch so they can be comfortable as they converse. 

“I know you aren’t a fan of revealing your private life and I’ve always respected that but I want you to know I’m here for you, no matter what. We are a family here at Madrid, unlike any other family out there but I care about you a lot and I never want to see you hurt if I can do something to help- even if it’s just listening to you.” 

Then he waits quietly maintaining eye contact until he sees a small smile on Gareth’s face and his heart warms at such a beautiful sight and then Gareth tells him all about his weekend and everything he’s missed and _wow_. 

He learns the true nature of their relationship, which had not even officially been a relationship before this weekend. 

His jealousy is nothing new but this is more than he’s ever felt, Gareth is not explicit in his retelling but his imagination runs wild and he’s beyond annoyed that he’s unable to stifle his arousal at the thought of them together, they paint a very tempting picture. 

His arousal vanishes as suddenly has it came when Gareth explains what occurred right before he came over to see him, there are waves of insecurity and vulnerability rolling off the Welshman and Álvaro knows without a doubt that this is all a misunderstanding. 

How could anyone _not_ want this beautiful boy? It’s impossible. 

Gareth seems exhausted after his relation of the events and Álvaro wishes he was his to kiss and comfort and hold because seeing him there with his heart barred is almost too much for him, he yearns for him. 

“I’m scared of where we go from here, I don’t regret what we did it was everything I ever dreamed of but I shouldn’t have stayed. Cris wasn’t in the bed the next morning, he already had plans with Fábio and he was waiting for me to leave-outright told me to go- so I left but I think I’ve mucked everything up and I wish I could go back and fix this” 

Gareth’s accented voice is a tad bit distracting but he knows what he needs to say to convince him that his perspective of things might be a tad skewed, “Gare, why would he make you breakfast if he wanted you to leave? He was affectionate with you in front of Fábio and that statement was not directed at you, I am certain of that. Cris is not cruel or arrogant you of all people know that; it sounds like you were scared and you pushed him away and he was too hurt by you pulling away to fight as hard as he wanted to.” 

He watches disbelief and shock appear in those blue eyes-so lovely- and then his words settle in the air and Gareth gasps a quiet oh and he jumps up turning around approaching the door with impressive speed before turning back to, certainly unsure of what he’s supposed to do. 

“What do I do?” Gareth pleads for his assistance and he’s only human and a weak one at that, he’s across the room gathering the shaking boy in his arms relinquishing his own strength. 

Gareth slots perfectly into his arms, which seemed to have had a gaping void that no one wise has ever filled as perfectly as the young Welshman does; he rocks their connected bodies like a lost ship at sea volleyed by the push of the ocean. 

Gareth’s scent is permeating through his system and seducing him away from his original plan of guiding Gareth back to his Portuguese soul mate. 

Álvaro has never wanted anything, anyone has badly as he wants Gareth; has wanted him since he first laid eyes on him, watching him watch Cris. 

They hadn’t been friends then just teammates on the pitch and Gareth seemed smaller than his six foot frame, a lost little boy uncertain of his place and he called to Álvaro like sirens at sea. He had walked over and placed a placating hand on his shoulder instantly gaining his attention, one of the few times he would be able to distract Gareth from Cris. 

“He’s not as scary as he seems he’s like a star in the sky they are bright and larger than life but really they’re just filled with hot air” he joked and Gareth had stood shocked simply gazing at him---then boisterous laughter expelled from his wide pink mouth and he was shaking with the force of his chortling and Álvaro was powerless from stopping his heart, he fell hopelessly without his own consent. 

He hadn’t missed the way Cris’ gaze had shifted over to them suspiciously, accusingly as he led Gareth away and volunteered to be his partner for their exercises in training; especially has he helped the wonderfully flexible striker stretch and loosen his muscles. 

He and Gareth become instant friends but in the next training session Cris was omnipresent, lingering behind Gareth taking Álvaro’s place as his partner and that would continue on for many more sessions to come. 

He had just about given up on winning Gareth’s affections once he saw how amenable Gareth was to the influx of attention Cris plied upon him, he could see the way they seemed to gravitate to each other and lost focus whenever they were separated, but in the end it was Gareth who gave him back an iota of hope by divulging how insecure he was of Cris’ true feelings for him. 

Gareth would never truly accept that Cris wanted him, just him and no one else and Alvaro knew that their relationship could never stand on such an unstable foundation, he could utilize that information for his benefit right now. 

He pulled back from the stirrings of the past and Gareth only a few inches separating their bodies, Gareth was exquisite even in his distress his breathing had slowed and he looked a bit paler than usual but all of this—everything about Gareth called out to Alvaro he was so tempted to just, “Arbì I’m scared what if he decides he doesn’t want to deal with a child, I behaved worse than any child would! Should I call him…… what could I possibly say to change his mind?” 

Gareth is a stuttering mess breathing and flailing in his arms breaking down all his defenses, so tempted, he bites the apple; leaning forward while softly grasping Gareth’s white washed face mouth slack in a perfect O and finally he places a kiss on his………

Forehead. 

Despite his own feelings for Gareth he is not a cruel man and he respects Cristiano, they are both part of his family, Hala Madrid. 

He could never sabotage their relationship in good conscious, if Gareth comes to him it has to be out of his own violation so Álvaro does one of the hardest things he’s ever had to and he says, “Go to him, you need each other” his head and heart are revolting but he just wants to see Gareth happy, even if it’s not with him. 

 

Cris loves his friends he really does. 

He reminds himself of that as Marcelo and Fábio sit in his kitchen pointing out all his flaws and give him tips on how to win Gareth back- with everything ranging from sending him hundreds of flowers to mailing a life size cut out of himself! 

He hadn’t been too surprised to see Celo knowing that while Fábio was a great friend, more like a brother really but was pretty shit at comforting and he needed the reinforcement of positivity that Marcelo brought to any situation naturally. 

The wild haired Brazilian stormed into his house like a whirlwind shouting his hello’s and dancing his way in like he was the head of a one man parade. 

Like any good defender he quickly assessed the situation and rushed over to hug and kiss Cris, giving comfort as easily as he breathed, proving why he was aptly nicknamed “Sunshine”. 

He’s thankful that Fábio suggested that they wait for Marcelo before he explained to them why Gareth wasn’t there, after his retelling he received matching smacks on the side of his head and guffawed indignantly because _what the hell??_

But while Fábio might be rubbish at comforting he’s brilliant at saying exactly what’s on his mind and his first words were “idiota!” and then he and Marcelo had slowly and painfully pointed out everything that he had done wrong, like how his silence might have been interpreted as confirmation that Cris wanted Gareth to leave even though Gareth was the one to claim that in the first place.

He let his past interfere with his present he should have told Gareth was wrong, boy was he wrong about his ridiculous claims and then he should have held him down and eaten strawberries off his chest. 

Marcelo also made Fábio apologize for intruding and teasing Gareth when it was clear he was uneasy about his presence and backing up Gareth’s idea that Cris was telling him to leave. 

They have said all that needs to be said; now Cris just wishes he could reach Gareth he has called and texted him to no avail, he’s not answering and Cris is worried that he might let all these crazy ideas marinate in his mind until he truly believes them. 

He’s about to try calling again when he sees Fábio turn to Marcelo showing him something on his phone, both of their gazes turn to him and they look worried and he grabs the phone before they can stop him, running out of the kitchen and ducking and weaving behind his couch, he takes a moment to look at the phone and sees……. Gareth. 

A photo of Gareth eating, cheeks puffed out because of the staggering amount of food he’s attempting to get in there at once. 

That’s not too bad he’s relieved that Gareth is--wait no he stops where was this uploaded, whose instagram is this? 

His blood runs cold. 17Arbeloa. 

Gareth had left him and walked straight to Arbeloa just like Fábio had predicted, they were eating together in what was clearly Arbeloa’s house and the hash tags made him want to punch a wall. 

Perfecto. 

Gareth was perfect, perfectly _his_ and no one else’s he was going to go right over to Arbeloa’s house and get Gareth and tie him to the damn bed if he had to! 

He tossed Fábio’s phone back in his general direction while speeding to his door to yank it open ignoring both of their protests and attempts to calm him down, he was gonna get his boy right now. 

Well it wouldn’t be too difficult as Gareth was on his door steps. 

He steps back to allow him entrance pulling him in when he hesitates too long for his liking, he spins around to see twin wide eyed stares from his favorite idiots and knows what he has to do “We need to talk you can leave, oh and I’m talking to Fábio and Marcelo so there isn’t any confusion” feeling a bit vindictive after seeing proof that Gareth went to someone else, Álvaro, of all people when he needed to be comforted instead of staying here and talking to him. 

Fábio and Marcelo both crowd around him hugging him and seeing the nervous look on Gareth’s face they quickly permit him a hug as well, their paternal instincts too overwhelming to leave without trying to sooth him. 

Gareth seems shocked but eagerly hugs them back and looks down delicately when Marcelo ruffles his hair and then they’re both gone. 

The tension in the air could be sliced cleanly with a knife it’s thick and lingering in the air, he’s so jealous and angry and _jealous_ he knows they need to talk because they’ve done this all backwards and clearly Gareth doesn’t know what he means to him despite their very clear confessions of love, but right now he just wants to throw Gareth down and get his hands on him, rub Álvaro off him.

"I’m sorry Cris I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have left I realize that now, I was scared and I still can’t believe that you want me but you do, don’t you and that should be enough but I was overwhelmed this morning and I was a coward I took the easy way out Álvaro helped me see that, can you forgive me?” as soon as he hears Álvaro’s name he’s lost, apologies can wait until later he needs to stalk his claim right now. 

Gareth is waiting for his response and he’ll give him one, he walks up to his boy and kisses him hard, roughly biting his tongue and gripping his hair pushing him into a wall, licking his protests and squeaks away wanting to drench Gareth in his scent. 

“Shut up _don’t_ you say his name” he bites out “You shouldn’t have left I was right here waiting for you, I should be enough for you!” he covers Gareth’s mouth before he can make any reply he doesn’t want to hear anything Gareth has to say right now, unless he’s screaming his throat hoarse, begging for more and going crazy because Cris won’t give it to him. 

He easily wrestles Gareth’s hands away from their placement on his heaving chest, uncertain if they are intended to pull him closer or push him away, not allowing them a decision. 

_BOOM!_ Cris hears the crash of their bodies into his wall primarily Gareth’s body as he slams it into said wall, Gareth has given up his futile attempts at resistance and is human putty in his hands. 

Instinctively his hands reach down to grab a handful of that fleshy ass, pulling and squeezing groaning at the answering moans, fingering the divide and fluttering away when Gareth whimpers more his audacity angers Cris even further, he will get what Cris gives to him and nothing more. 

Growling he backs away to fully drink in the sight before him, Gareth’s a dirty filthy mess, hair tousled like he just rolled out of bed, lips as red as he’s ever seen them puffed from his rough treatment and his eyes, those pleading wide eyes they beg for his forgiveness and he fortifies his resolve refusing to break now. 

“Take off your clothes, all of it and turn around, hands against the wall with your feet spread” those blue eyes question him and he’s tired of being questioned dammit! 

He leans in close until their faces are a breadth’s distance apart and says in a chilling voice, “Gareth if I have to repeat myself you will not like the consequences” and then it’s a whirlwind of movement shirt and pants flying off Gareth’s supple body until only his boxers remain. 

He glares at them as if that will remove them and it doesn’t so…….. _Krippppppp_ the sound of the cotton tearing is loud in his spacious living room and Gareth gasps out “Cris what are--?” and he swallows his breath before he can finish that redundant inquiry, what they are doing is quite apparent. 

Cris kisses him like heaven and hell are raging a war, biting and vicious, hard enough to break skin then licking away the pain and raining down on his abused mouth with butterfly kisses that do little to sooth the fire he has set ablaze in Gareth’s blood. 

His boy is getting bold he feels hands raking through his hair, curly and soft without the restriction of his usual gel, those same hands cart down the plane of his heavily muscled back searching for skin under his shirt. 

He allows Gareth close enough to touch before binding his wrists with his hands pinning them behind his back as fast as Gareth himself on the pitch, Cris spins him around tilting his body forward to rest his forehead on the wall and his ass is stuck out from the way he is bent at the waist. 

Gareth is whining his disappointment and Cris darkly chuckles “You don’t get to touch or yourself, you belong to me everything about you is mine. Your smiles, your moans, your tears, your taste all of it is mine don’t you ever try to make me share again” and he punctuates his statement with a mighty thrust of his hips, the hard line of his cock driving into the crease of Gareth’s ass. 

Gareth is scampering and clamoring to drive his hips back but he easily stills his movement and kicks his legs further apart throwing him off balance. 

He can’t help but notice that the back of Gareth’s neck is unblemished, completely lacking in any marks and he’s beyond excited to remedy that lounging forward to attach his lips to the long graceful neck, biting and licking, enjoying the tang of salt on his mouth and the crests of Gareth’s high pitched moans. 

When he’s satisfied Gareth’s neck is red and raw, he momentarily hopes that he’s not being too rough but then the picture of Gareth in _his_ house flashes through his mind and that concern flees. 

His cock is screaming for a release now after all this foreplay and he pulls down the zipper of the shorts Fabio had forced him into, the sound of peeling metal is cacophonous and his cock springs out of its cotton prison, ready to meet its first conjugal visit. He gazes down at that beautiful pink ass in his hands and thrusts into a soft cheek, grinding and winding his hips, eyes fluttering at the intense pleasure the friction brings. 

Rutting his cock all over Gareth’s ass leaving sticky trails of his come in his wake, grabbing two fists full of that ass he spreads Gareth wide-such a pretty pink hole just waiting to be stuffed full of his cock! 

He spits directly onto the winking hole watching it clench tightly already fantasizing how amazing it’ll feel around him, brings one finger to rub around the wrinkled skin pressing in-in- _innnnnn_ until he’s cover up to his last knuckle “ahhh Cris please, I-ahhh fuck!” he should go find some lube but he’s too far gone to think rationally. 

He needs to be inside now and he doesn’t truly want to hurt his boy so he bends and presses his tongue straight into that tight hole, slobbering all over getting it extra wet, feeling the excess saliva run from the side of his mouth and using his skilled fingers to find that hidden spot inside Gareth, he’s curling and searching frantically, “Ahhhhh right there, right there don’t stop, don’t stop” and he doesn’t stop his fingers are banging into Gareth with erratic speed until his boy is at the edge proclaiming he’s gonna come, he’s gonna come, so Cris stops. 

Gareth all but sobs looking over his shaking shoulders silently begging for this torture to end, and Cris plunges into him with no warning diving in until he’s fully seated. 

The friction is a bit too tight and Cris stills himself, Gareth is velvet plush walls around his cock and he needs a moment or two before he can fuck him to exhaustion without this ending too soon. 

Moments pass and they are joined in the most intimate of ways, neither moving until Gareth presses back and Cris slams forward! 

His hands move to grip those beautifully sculpted hips and he fucks in earnest, driving as deep as this angle allows him, cock dragging on the walls of Gareth’s ass causing him to scratch and claw at the wall his face is dangerously close to because of the strength of Cris’ thrusts. 

He pumps forward while simultaneously dragging Gareth back, creating a brutal pace, slamming into Gareth in wild abandon; cock hitting his prostate head on making the Welshman scream his pleasure. 

He doesn’t slow down, can’t slow down fucking in and out, until Gareth’s knees give out and they are sliding to the floor, he pushes Gareth’s chest down into the floor holding his ass up to continue his assault. 

“Who do you belong to? Who owns his ass? Tell me right now” the slap of skin against skin is hypnotic and he wants a damn answer! 

“Who do you belong, say my fucking name!” and he pulls Gareth’s air painfully driving his cock deep, deeper, _deeper_ until he swears he can feel it in Gareth stomach, he wants to brand Gareth so badly that no one else will ever be able to fill his spot, a gaping hole only he can sate. 

“You, you, Cristiano I belong to you I want you, only you!” Gareth’s voice is soaked in desperation and it’s the sexiest things he’s ever heard, tugging Gareth’s cock once, twice is all it takes to paint his floors white and he fucks Gareth through his orgasm , the hole contracts around his pulsating cock and he’s coming, harder than he’s ever come! 

Loads of come erupt into Gareth’s tiny hole and he rolls them both to the side, not letting go of Gareth for one second. 

He’s made that mistake one too many times today. 

“Cris I’m so sorry “he apologizes once more needing to hear a verbal acceptance of his apology, everything that had happened was wonderful and incredible, and the best sex of his life undisputedly, his entire body is sensitized, one large erogenous zone; he’s sure if anyone touched him right this moment they would get a spark from all the live wire circuits coursing through his system. 

He had raced back to Cris' in the awake of realizing how stupid he had been to leave in the first place, intending to grovel and beg until Cris let him back in, into both his home and his heart. His heart had flown into his throat when suddenly those elaborate French doors had opened up, like the gates of heaven, housing a deity and the master of Gareth's fate. 

Cris had looked so angry, a vengeful angel, ready to accost him and send him away in repentance; punish him for ever considering being without this beautiful man. 

He rushed to speak before he could be condemned: begging for sympathy, unconsciously mentioning Alvaro and his assistance in his emotional awakening, very few words escaped from his lips before he was forcefully silenced. Cris was everywhere at once, hands tugging at his hair arranging his head as he desired, thighs inserted in the open vee of his legs; forcing their way closer pressing him roughly into the wall. 

His kisses were earth shattering--succulent lips biting and destroying his own, his ravenous teeth that bite hard enough to break skin and a slithering wet tongue that licked away his moans of exhalation. 

God. 

His body was singing just recalling what had been done to it not five minutes ago. He felt wrecked, Cris had hollowed him out leaving him empty only to stuff him full of himself and clog all his holes with bits of Cris. 

"Why?" Cris finally allows the air to taste his words and his inquiry is simple, monosyllabic, yet it encapsulates the entirety of the world he can see the cosmos of their relationship floating in the air. 

He's terrified to voice his reasons but silence has already failed them once today, taking a much needed breathe he says "I've never loved anything the way I love football, it’s been my sole friend throughout my whole life. I can remember moments of pure joy, when I was one with the ball and we could conquer everything with the strength of our faith alone. Every voice that wanted to break my spirit and drown me in their uncertainty got a little bit quieter when I was dribbling and doing all the things they said I couldn't. Football was my first true love." 

Cris looks captivated by his words shifting up into a sitting position and eyes intently flickering from his eyes to his mouth, he readies himself for what he has to reveal now.

"You are football. I was a young boy who couldn't see the trajectory of his limits and then, there was you. You were incredible-are incredible, you become synonymous to football so entwined I couldn't see one without the other. Playing with you would have been enough, being your friend would have been enough, but now I have you, your love is a trophy; the Super Cup and Decima wrapped up in one and I can't go back, settle for anything else. I was scared to lose you but now I'm ready to fight, to do anything it takes to keep you and prove to you that I deserve you." 

His lungs are emptied all the words he's been bottling in, free and he feels freer than a lone feather gliding through a summer breeze in Spain. 

The Portuguese peers into his eyes with the intent of a seer reading a crystal ball, and he crawls into Gareth's space collecting his hands dragging him into a powerful hug, as tumultuous as the sea before a storm. 

He clings to that exceedingly warm body, arms wrapping around that sweat slicked neck inhaling the pungency of his scent, their scent mixed together. 

They stand there in the remnants of this beautiful disaster, Cris laying them both down onto the ground holding him like he's something precious, something to be treasured. 

"You don't have to do anything other than exist, you don't need to prove anything to me or anyone. I don't _want_ you to be perfect, I'm not perfect; despite what you think I'm not. I'm possessive, controlling, hot tempered, arrogant, and a perfectionist. You accept all of that, open heartedly and that's all it took to get me, don't try to be anything; just be mine and let me be yours." 

It’s everything he needs to hear but his insecurities refuse to shake free and cling to him viscerally, in a way he fears may forever be tainted in this skin. 

He won’t run this time he needs to show Cris his soft spots, “I don’t know how” he admits “I want to be with you and I trust your words but I fear….. longevity. What if you don’t always feel like this? How could I possibly be enough for you?” his chin is being nuzzled before his question can dry in the air and he looks up into those molten chocolate eyes that promise him the world. 

“You’re enough, more than enough, _te quiero_ I don’t just love you I need you and I need you to believe this Gareth. It hurt seeing you with Álvaro and not just because I was jealous, you went to someone when you were upset; you left me here to go be comforted by someone else. I let you leave because I thought it wouldn’t be real if I had to make you stay, every fiber of my being wanted to stop you but I wanted it to be your decision. And you left. Don’t you think I’m feeling a bit unsure of myself too? But I trust you and I know nothing happened, this cannot work without complete trust Gareth. I need you to trust my words I would never lie to you." 

He feels gutted by Cris revelation he had not intended to hurt his beautiful Portuguese man, he had never even contemplated the thought of Cris being insecure, _wow I’ve been so selfish_. 

“Cris I’m sorry I never-“ his thought his cut off by his own musings, Álvaro, that was the name that cued Cris’ passionate rage and now he’s being mentioned again, as a matter of fact how had Cris even know where he had gone? 

He doubts that Álvaro called Cris and while they are close there seems to be a distant that’s formed between them recently, Gareth cannot figure out what’s caused that, but he won’t question things he cannot find answers for when they are answers to be had. 

"Cris I’m sorry you were hurt by my actions but how did you know where I went? Did Álvaro call you?” he gently questions crawling over into Cris’ personal space to establish this is pure curiosity rather than accusatory, he does not need any more misunderstandings tonight his heart is heavy enough. 

Cris quickly reacts to his proximity pulling him into his strong arms, gently pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead eliciting a soft sigh of pleasure from his lips. 

“I saw on his Instagram, he uploaded a picture of you eating.” Cris gently turns his body around, now they are laying chest to back and he brings his phone to view showing him the picture of himself. 

He had not known it was taken but it’s not unheard of for members of their teams to upload embarrassing pictures of each other, or even a celebratory picture to acknowledge a players’ achievement.

This picture fits neither of those categorization, it looks intimate like a private moment between lovers being shared and then his eyes flint to the caption and he zeros in on the words and _perfecto_ , that’s one of the words used to describe this picture, to describe him. 

“I didn’t know he thought that…… felt that way. About me. We’re friends he’s always been a very good friend, when I was new and alone and you were too far out of my league to even entertain the idea of approaching you. He’s your friend too though he helped me realized how ridiculous I was acting, he could have told me to leave you or stay with him but he didn’t he knew I could only be happy with you.” 

He can feel Cris’ body give a sigh of relief at his words but still he adds “Nothing happened” because today has proven to him that communication is too important to keep silent even when the answers should be obvious. 

“I know” Cris breathes into his hair finally putting down his phone the fluorescent light casting an ethereal glow across both their profiles and he wishes he could re-do this day, like a free kick that’s gone too far off target surpassing the seemingly impenetrable wall of people only to fly off course and completely miss the net.

But he knows how necessary those moments of loss are, how satisfying it feels when you do everything right and the ball dips down straight into the net and the fans scream so loudly that he can feel the vibration in the air, tingling, creating goosebumps on his skin. 

He won’t make this same mistake twice, losing Cris is a chance he’s never willing to take: for once he shuts off the voices in his head asking how long this will last, and he follows his heart and as always that leads to Cris, turning his head their lips meet in a heated languid kiss that makes his head spin and his toes curl. His heart’s rapid beat drowns out all thoughts in his head, 

the world can wait he’s kissing the man he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is better! 
> 
> For now lol these boys are just so stupid and in love. I now have winter break so I have endless time on my hands to write, write and write some more! My beautiful beta is on vacation in the Caribbean (let's all take a moment to be jealous because seriously WTF??) so pardon any mistakes you see I will be combing through this again later but I did not want to keep you all waiting any longer. Hope you all enjoyed and show me with comments and kudos! The next chapter will be here very soon and we will see inside the mind of someone new!! :D and I will be posting a link to the most adorable video to set the mood (trust me this is the BEST video in the world for a Baliano fan I watch it many times a day)


	7. Amigos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luka is just so over Baliano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sweet little detour from the heaviness of the story and my reaction to this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTDTqR-d6BM&list=LLhj-ugqulKy7tzUdHuMrPgA&index=2
> 
> This video is amazing watch it first and then read and enjoy! Kudos and comments are welcome, especially comments I love to hear what you all think it motivates me to write faster!

Gareth still isn't answering his calls or text messages and Luka is beyond aggravated by his radio silence since he was kidnapped- is it still referred to as that when the abductee adores the abductor and would follow him to the end of the world?-......he'll think on that but he hasn't heard from his best friend since Cristiano took him away to perform actions Luka does not want to think about, he loves his team mates but he's very married and does not want to think about Gareth's naked ass. Or Cris' naked ass, or any naked asses that do not belong to his lovely _female_ wife. 

He understands celebratory sex after a huge win, and this is a big win definitely the pinnacle of Gareth's career here at Madrid. 

But he misses the time when it was just him and his Welsh compatriot, joking like they hadn't been ever been separated, he was exuberant when he first learned that they would be reunited; always hoping that Florentino would see Gareth's abundance of raw talent and sign him. 

Playing for Los Blancos had always been the young Welshman's dream and he never doubted he would achieve it, Gareth was the definition of persistent. 

It was a bit selfish but he had secretly been happy that Gareth was monolingual and playing on a team with predominantly Spanish speaking players because that meant that he would have Gareth to himself; they could pick up where they had left off essentially without much interference. 

All the players were close and everyone had friends that they would call their best friends, someone who placed they above all the others, someone to eat meals with and watch a game with; he wasn't necessarily _jealous_ of their closeness but he did yearn for that connection at times when he saw how close Cris and Marcelo were, able to snatch the words out of the others mouth. 

Sergio and Iker were a level of closeness he didn't aspire for, he already had a wife so that spot was sufficiently filled, thank you very much. 

He knew eventually Gareth would start taking Spanish lessons and gain confidence in conversing with the rest of the team, but Gareth was his until that dreaded moment. 

Then he can't help but recalling that training session in Cardiff, he can still remember standing on the pitch after listening to the coaches speech and seeing everyone wonder around afterwards loosening up to start their work outs, he sought out Gareth only to see him making a clear bee line for Cristiano like a moth drawn to the illuminate glow of a light. 

He had reached out to catch him knowing that left to his own devices Gareth would follow Cristiano around under the false pretenses of training and he would not get a chance to speak to him about coming over and watching some rugby. He wasn't a huge rugby fan but Gareth liked it well enough. 

Gareth had looked momentarily flustered by his forcefulness but brushed it off and they eased their way into a conversation, he jokingly spoke in Spanish to see Gareth's reaction; boy was it funny he looked like a deer caught in headlights! 

Gareth was in the process of calling him a "wanker", his preferred insult when he felt a presence behind them, it was a formidable energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

"Let's start running" he called out to the Welshman already knowing who exactly was approaching them and hoping to distract Gareth long enough to have a few more seconds with him. 

Breathless laughter was carried to his ears. 

It was too late. 

Reluctantly turning around, he was greeted by the blinding smile on their star Portuguese's face and didn't even need to look over to see a answering smile on Gareth's face. 

Their matching smiles would make the sun pale in comparison. 

Gareth was a blushing mess, he knew him well enough to know he was internally panicking in complete disbelief that Cristiano had come to him. 

He was the only one who didn't notice how often Cristiano sought him out whether in practice or on the pitch when they were all a mess of tangled limbs after a goal celebration. 

Cristiano easily slipped between them redirecting all of Gareth's attention onto himself, effectively blocking him from joining their conversation and he bitterly said under his breath "Oh it's fine I'll just leave you two alone." 

They didn't hear him or didn't care. He hoped it was the former (but angrily accepted it was most likely the latter).

He did just that and moved forward having no desire to watch them blatantly flirt, why couldn't they just admit their feelings already and move past this constant need to be in each others spaces? 

He knew babies that were more independent. 

_I remember when he was too shy to even say a simple hello to the man and now he's the only one he wants to speak to_ his rants continued fueled by his annoyance at Cristiano's constant interruptions and he looked over to send a glare Gareth's way, let him know he was not pleased with the current situation only to see how _happy_ his friend looked. 

They both seemed unaware of anyone on the pitch but themselves, both hanging on the others every word with figurative hearts in their eyes. 

They weren't even pretending to practice at this point, well he supposed Gareth was a tad bit jumping and winding his arms around like windmills but Cristiano was simply gazing at him like a delicious treat that he couldn't wait to get a taste of. He could see the Portuguese superstar's laser focus on Gareth's lips in motion, obviously more interested in the mouth itself than the words that were coming out of it.

He looked around to see if anyone else was viewing this ridiculous moment between the two, catching the eyes of both Marcelo and Pepe, who both gave him sympathetic shrugs. 

They knew exactly how he was feeling with Cristiano bypassing them both to lavish all his attention on the young Welshman. He couldn't help but laugh now at his own bitterness, Cristiano and Gareth were acting like high school students with a crush and it was effecting everyone. Including him. He spent the rest of the training running with Marcelo, who was more than happy to mock Cristiano and Gareth with him. 

He couldn't stop chuckling as Celo provided commentary for the blushing idiots, "No Cristiano you are the best footballer who ever footballed I am just honored to be in your perfect presence I shiver everything you make a free kick" in a horrid imitation of Gareth's English accent, "Gareth you remind me so much of myself but younger and Welsher I would love to teach you everything I know about ball control; you can handle my balls anytime" and his Cristiano voice was so cocky and pretentious they are both burst out laughing with tears running down their cheeks, gaining the attention of everyone except the ones they were mocking who remained blissfully oblivious.

Back then he had thought that once they admitted their obvious feelings things would return to normalcy , with less flirting and pining and he would be able to have a conversation with Gareth without a certain Portuguese hovering. 

He sees now how wrong he was. 

Now the two idiots are just ignoring everyone else to go off and have sex for days. Feeling beyond bored, he finds himself on Instagram curious to see what the rest of his teammates are up to and then he sees Arbeloa's post. 

That git has time to see Arbí but not to answer him, what does he need to be in love with him to get some attention?!


	8. Competencia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys spend some much needed family time.

They are cuddling on Cris’ white leather couch, limbs entwined so artfully that it would take a lot of effort and intent to unravel them; intent that neither of them possess at the moment especially since they are both tired after spending the entire day with Cristiano Jr. and Alba. 

Surprisingly enough it’s little Alba who has worn them out with all her tireless dashing across the rooms and her persistent efforts to climb Cristiano like a tree, Gareth’s heart had nearly exploded watching Cris tote her around on his leg as if she weighed nothing. Cristiano Jr. was far more calm and well-mannered than his littler hellion, preferring to sit quietly and observe the world around him with his duplicated coffee brown eyes. 

He was still warming up to Gareth still not comfortable with interacting with people who weren’t his papa and Gareth honestly could see many similarities between them, he enjoyed sitting silently beside the little boy while he drew in his notebook. 

He remembers fondly how he had drawn a picture of all four of them, Cris was grand and larger than life and was adorning a cape with a ‘CR7’ emblem on his chest and Gareth had only cringed a bit at the length of his hair and the attempt at drawing his headband that the others had rudely regarded as a tiara, he couldn’t be affronted when Junior so shyly looked over his shoulder, proudly showing him the drawing with a small smile on his face; he had no choice but to smile in response and give the boy two thumbs up. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at seeing Alba on his leg in the picture; she truly had a penchant for climbing others clarifying why he had dubbed her his ‘crazy monkey’ and she would grab a banana and loudly squeal every time he did. 

All in all, they were knackered out from entertaining the kids all day and cuddling relaxed them both. He nuzzled his head into Cris’ chest inhaling his natural spicy scent that lingered on his skin even when his cologne faded throughout the day, he loved the way Cris smelled like exotic spices and honey, his scent never failing to calm his frayed nerves. 

He could feel his eyes being weighed down by the lingering temptation of much needed sleep and he would have surely knocked out if he didn’t hear that smooth Portuguese voice, “Our time together is almost over do you really want to spend one of our last days sleeping?” he felt a soft press of lips against his brow at the end of the inquiry. 

He didn’t have to think too hard to figure out what his incorrigible lover would rather be doing, or more accurately who he would rather be doing, namely _him_. 

The last few months together had been wonderful for his confidence, Cris was good for his confidence; affection came as second nature to him and it was difficult to question his place in Cris’ life when he had all but moved in, he could count on his hands the amount of days he has slept in his own bed since moving to Cris’ neighborhood. 

Following their great big misunderstanding or the time 'You were both idiots and Fábio and I had to save you', as a certain Brazilian had coined it; they had slowed things down temporarily both of them needing time for their relational change. 

Gareth had flown his mother in to visit and spend some alone time with her and little Alba, he could still hear her excited squeal when he had admitted him and Cristiano were more than friends, “You always had a crush the size of Wales on that boy and I don’t blame you if I was 20 years younger…” and he really did not need to hear the rest of that brain numbing statement. 

Nonetheless her immediate acceptance calmed him in a way that no amount of self-assuring comments ever could. 

Mum knew best. 

Cris had been the one to reestablish a gateway of communication between them, texting him every morning and night, visually showing him that he was the first and last thing on his mind; his capacity of romance was exceeding anything Gareth had ever dreamed of. 

Training with the team had been easier than he’d expected, well it had only been marginally horrifying when the entire had clapped and chanted at their arrival; he purposely avoided Sergio and Marcelo making kissy faces while holding a banner that read, “Congratulations!” with an added handwritten _on the sex_ underneath it. 

After practice Cris had offered him a ride home and he had felt inclined to decline, knowing that their houses were in opposite directions and training had been particularly tiring; Señor Ancelotti had not been amused by the teams insistence teasing of him and Cris and made them run laps until even they were all out of breathe, “You’ll run until you can’t find breathe to mock each other.” He promised them in his melodic Italian tinged voice. 

That was when Cris told him about a house in his neighborhood that was for sale and before he knew what was going on he was being moved into a brand new house, only a few blocks from Cris’. 

He should have known that the Portuguese striker had an ulterior motive; which was revealed to him very early on with an influx of visits from his new neighbor, who always found excuses to come over and their night always seemed to end the same. 

Sweaty and out of breath. 

He had incorrectly assumed that their electric sex life was a result of the newness of their relationship and it would fade with time, Cris was always raring to go it seemed and he was not embarrassed to let Gareth know exactly when he wanted him, which was all the time. 

It was exhilarating. 

A hand easily slid into his hair interrupting his musings, “Stop thinking about me while I’m right here, I might start to get jealous of myself and that’s very confusing for me” and he couldn’t help his answering chuckle because Cris was so ridiculously cocky, “I like you better in my mind your ego isn’t the size of a small island and you let me sleep a lot more” he teased back watching the way Cris’ lips lifted in a smirk as they tended to when he was being quote on quote, "sassy". 

He felt the arm wrapped around his waist begin to travel to his sides and he knew exactly what was coming, Cris had made a revelation in one of their bouts of passion and deciphered that he was outrageously ticklish and had used that bodily reaction against him many times already. 

“Noo stop it you bully!" he exclaimed while pushing away from the Portuguese deciding that throwing his body to the floor was a safer option than suffering Cris’ unnecessary punishment, he felt the air escape his lungs as he crashed to the carpeted floors but his victory was short lived when he felt Cris’ body covering his. 

They started to wrestle for dominance, Gareth trying to restrain Cris’ wandering hands away from his ticklish sides and failing horribly due to his body shaking from laughter, he could feel his eyes tearing up from forced guffaws falling from his mouth, “Say you love me and I’m the best boyfriend in the whole wide world and you love my huge ego!” Cris demanded evilly relentless fingers wrecking Gareth. 

He wouldn’t fall for that trick again, last time he had agreed to one of Cris’ egocentric statements he had been cocky the entire day and he continued to tickle him until he had begged him to stop and when that didn’t work: promised to sleep naked for a week. 

Wait. 

_Wait_.

That was his answer. 

He stopped struggling and went limp under Cris’ body making instant eye contact and slowly licking his lips, laying his body fully on the floor while attempting to make his squirming more seductive and while he felt absolutely absurd doing so he immediately saw the change in Cris’ eyes, from playful to hunger. 

He writhed strategically causing his shirt to rise on his smooth muscled stomach, flashing a sliver of skin while simultaneously pressing his hips upward as if trying to escape from Cris’ hand despite their current stagnant placement on his hips. 

“You are the best boyfriend in the world I can’t say I love your huge ego but there is definitely another huge aspect of you that I love” he struggled to keep a straight face especially following the way Cris’ eyes heated up at his obvious compliment, he was just too easy sometimes like a love starved puppy lapping up his masters affections. 

_I have him right where I want him I just need to distract him enough to flip us_ he thought to himself grinding further into Cris, not surprised to feel his burgeoning....excitement and honestly if Gareth wasn't so hell-bent on one upping Cris he would have jumped on him already. 

But he was on a mission and sex would not get in his way, not this time. 

He smiled in triumph when felt those torturous hands leave his side and wander up his abdominal, one hand making a clear path to his nipple and when he glanced up Cris' eyes were glazed over; his mind already London fogged up from his thoughts of sex. 

He was primed to switch their positions and leave Cris wanting, show him that he was no pushover and there was nothing wrong with sleeping sometimes; Gareth missed sleep so dearly between Cris' sexual appetite and Alba’s endless energy he was lucky to get a few hours in a night. 

But then Cris ruined everything, "You're so gorgeous" the amount of awe infused in his voice was heart stopping "Look at you like my own personal buffet, I don't think I'll ever stop coming back for seconds" and there went his plan and a part of him was suspicious Cris was sneaky and a sweet talker; he knew those things personally but at the same time he was weak, still not immune to that face or that voice and not sure he would ever be. 

Glancing up deciding he would choose his battles he leaned forward to kiss those teasing lips when he saw that ever present smirk, that smirk that informed him that he had been played like a game of footie! 

Cris attempts to continue tickling him but he surges up before his hands can remold themselves into his sides successfully rolling them to the side, but Cris won't give up (unlike him) and he becomes desperate to win again and then he hears a certain Portuguese mad man in his head _'just mess up his hair if he was allowed to he would take breaks during matches to fix his hair'_ he will further assess why exactly Marcelo has become a voice in his head because that's scary but the advice is sound, he reaches up and ruffles Cris' perfectly coifed and terminally gelled hair and the Portuguese moves like a man possessed. 

They are essentially rolling around on the floor similar to squirming worms, Cris tickling him until he's crying and his hands are grimy from Cris' gel but he continues to mess with his hair enjoying his indignant scoffs and "Hey stop it, not my hair." 

He feels as if he's gonna pass out from all this laughing debating admitting defeat (again) when he hears the patter of little feet coming down the stairs, before he can warn Cris of their intruder he hears a scream he's very familiar with, " _Daddy_ don't play WWE without me" before a small body flies on top of his knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

He really needs to start screening what Alba watches, he probably should have done it last weekend when she had tried to RKO him. 

He's man enough to admit that she had been successful, catching him by surprise. 

~~~~~~~~~~^^~~~~~~~~~~

Cris couldn't stop laughing Alba was a girl after his own heart! 

Gareth was so mild mannered and while he was no longer shy around Cris he was still fairly quiet and the complete opposite of his vivacious daughter. 

He had been the one to suggest that Gareth bring the little princess over, wanting to meet the person that meant the most to his boy and he was not been disappointed; she had taken one look at him and seemed to already recognize him proudly saying his name in her adorable voice "Cwistiano" before latching onto his leg and demanding that he get her some apple juice. 

Gareth had looked on aghast at her manners or lack there of, but his own laughter and answering "Si princesa" must have calmed his delicate English sensibilities and he happily carried sassy Gareth jr(a) to the kitchen to have one of Juniors many juice boxes. 

He honestly loved being around the little ball of energy, she was in constant motion and he could already assess that she shared her fathers pace. He was already imagining her in a miniature football kit. 

He'd been unsure of how exactly she would get along with Junior, with how quiet and honestly _Gareth-like_ his son was but his fears were for not because they quickly became the best of friends the way only children can, wholeheartedly embracing another they have just met. 

Alba was bossy and adventurous, quick to take Junior's football and initiate a game and he could see his son opening up and becoming more sure of himself and it made his heart swell. 

Just like this visual right now, Alba had wrestled poor Gareth to the ground and had him pinned to the floor shouting at Junior to "Count, count!" and his son happily plays referee slamming his hand on the floor in three consecutive hits. 

He reluctantly decides to save his Welshman despite how entertaining this all is, calling out "Albita you are the undisputed champion would you like some chicken nuggets to celebrate your victory?" And he receives twin head swivels for his effort, both Junior and Alba abandon Gareth at the promise of the food, their favorite food. 

Alba does a quick victory dance on Gareth's chest pumping her chubby arms in the air and shouting "Champion" before snatching Juniors hand and dragging him into the kitchen to retrieve their forgotten nuggets. 

He doesn't miss the slight coloring on his sons plush cheeks and smirks because his boy has his first crush and its on a pushy little three year old. 

That's his boy not scared of challenge. 

He makes his way back over to Gareth gazing down at his small content smile feeling equally content because it all feels like _family_ , Alba has easily weaseled her way into his heart residing beside her father. 

"You really shouldn't encourage her she only acts like that because she knows you enjoy it" Gareth chides morphing his face from content to comical disapproval, he slides across the distance separating them pulling his lover into a loose hold. 

"I approve of everything she does she's adorable and Junior loves her.......plus she's the champ" and Gareth attempts to maintain his serious countenance but he ultimately fails and they both dissolve into laughter, until they hear the crash of a plate hitting the floor and they're both off to see the damage their unsupervised children have gotten up to. 

~~~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of their days together pass by like sand thorough an hourglass and he wishes he could turn back the time but he also misses football and the rush of the crowd and looking over and seeing Cris' exuberant face after they successfully dismantle another team’s defense and canon the ball into the net. 

It's a bittersweet moment, he has truly enjoyed this break with his makeshift family; Alba and Junior had cemented their friendship with Junior going as far as making matching friendship bracelets for them and they have taken to sneaking into each other’s beds late at night, memorably a few days ago when he had gone to check on Alba only to find her missing and his mind with into panic mode; he ran to Cris needed his comfort and knowing he would have the number for a swat team, he _was_ an international superstar after all. 

Cris had looked at him with fond amusement before directing him to Junior’s room where he found the two safely snuggled together only Alba's stuffed Peppa pig teddy separating them. 

He couldn't resist snapping a picture to send to his mum, shoulders relaxing as his entire body sighed in relief. 

He sighed at the memory currently walking around his and Cris' shared bedroom collecting his possessions as he readied himself to go home and drop off Alba with his mum, she was always difficult when he left in the mornings for practice and it was much easier on them both emotionally, if she stayed with her nana. 

She had already cried when he had explained to her that they would be leaving, instantly grabbing Junior with both hands while her bottom lip wobbled and he could see the rainstorm brewing in her beautiful eyes; thank goodness Junior intervened before the storm could hit. 

He was beyond happy that the two got on so well, far better than he and Cristiano could have ever hoped for but he was not looking forward to the ride home; nothing would stop the floodgates.

"You're leaving tonight" he startles at the smooth deep voice jumping in surprise, Cris looks like someone has taken his Ballon D'or and given it to someone else giving even Alba a run for her money. 

"Cris you're going to see me at practice tomorrow it's just easier if I bring Alba home tonight, she will be inconsolable in the morning if she has to say goodbye to both you and Junior" he calmly explains his actions again as he's done this entire day whenever Cris whines that he doesn't have to leave. 

He turns back to folding and fitting as much as he can in his travel bag when he feels arms wrap around him from behind, that spicy scent wafts into his senses and he practically melts into the embrace as strong as he's been acting he's slightly crumbling inside as well knowing exactly how Alba feels, distraught about leaving his Cristiano for even a second. 

Spinning around he buries his head in the crook of the Portuguese stars neck, fisting into his tank top never wanting to let go. 

Their lips naturally gravitate to each other like the earth and the moon languidly kissing, tongues stroking and caressing sweeter than they've ever kissed. 

Pressing forward he melds his body into the strong body pillowing his, their bodies sensually moving together mimicking the motion of their tongues; he gasps at the hands running up his back and Cris takes advantage of his opened mouth licking into it, running his tongue across his teeth and lowly curling around his pink appendage. 

That fire hot mouth is burning through all his senses, their hips starting an instinctive slow grind that brushes their burgeoning erections together.

"I want you so _damn_ badly" that silky voice runs over the shell of his ear and he's as turned on as he's ever been. 

But they can't. 

Not tonight. 

They don't go any further than kissing wanting to spend the last night with their kids, all four of them cuddle up on the couch and Alba declares that she wants to sit in between the two Cristianos leaving Gareth on Juniors other side. 

His heart simultaneously grows and breaks at seeing a sleeping Alba on Cris' chest and Junior shyly places his head on his shoulder, smiling when Gareth draws him closer softly ruffling his baby soft curls. Their night ends with the soundtrack of Frozen, Alba's choice. 

Gareth is prepared for Alba’s unhappiness about having to leave and he even allows her to have cookies and ice cream for dinner to ease the pain, mentally apologizing to his mum who will have to deal with the sugar rush that she will editable have. 

What he is not prepared for is Cristiano Junior, who has been silent all evening quietly eating his pre-approved plate of broccoli and chicken cut into kid friendly pieces while Alba sits right there munching on her cookie; his little head shaking no when she attempts to stuff a piece right into his mouth. 

He and Cris are both so focused on distracting Alba enough to get her out of the house before she can realize they’re leaving and latch onto one of the Cristianos and refuse to leave, playing with her and allowing her to climb them both and laying kisses all over her precious head. 

So imagine his surprise when he manages to delay his daughter’s tear with a promise of seeing nana and they are all set to leave but then he feels a small hand on his leg and he turns around to a teary eyed Junior, looking ever much the six year old he sometimes forgets he is because of his maturity. 

“Don’t go” and _goodness_ it’s the most Junior has said to him during this entire vacation and he would be lying if he said his heart doesn’t sink to the bottom of his chest, his Cris is standing behind Junior and he immediately wraps his weeping boy up in a comforting hug, Junior burrowing his head into his papa’s neck like his presence will ward away this horrible nightmare. 

Before he can stop her Alba wiggles free of his hold and approaches the father-son duo, making grabby hands at Junior; he’s already aware that she considers him _hers_ in every sense of the word and he will have to explain to her that she simply cannot own another person but right now the sight is too precious for him to find any flaws. 

Junior flies out of his Father’s arms to latch onto Alba and he’s never felt prouder of having this beautiful girl as his daughter than this very moment, she whispers “It's okay Crissy” sounding much older than she should before he can’t take this anymore and he stoops down to wrap them both in his arms breathing in their shared clean baby scent; they're soon joined by Cris who rocks them all back and forth humming an old Portuguese lullaby he’s taken to singing to them both. 

Their eyes meet over the little heads and they both now this is real, this is love. 

 

Being back in his house is strange after spending some much time with Cris and he's already dropped a sobbing Alba off with his mum, heartbroken at her obvious sorrow but promising her he will be back soon and she will be able to visit both the Cristanos; his mum shooed him off claiming he was making it worst and he kissed his princess and drove back home. 

He's absentmindedly replying to some old messages from Luka, when had he gotten all these messages anyway? 

When he hears the sports anchor on the television discussing them, the team, and their new transfers, namely one Colombian star who has made quite the impact at the World Cup: football's biggest stage. 

Like millions around world he had watched it even after Portugal's defeat and he was thoroughly impressed by the young Colombian star as well, he would be an asset to their already formidable team. 

Listening with one ear he continues to text Luka, apologizing for his absence, "--he's the youngest golden ball winner and no one was more shocked them him when he learned of Madrid's interest. He is said to move from Monaco to Madrid this summer and this will add to the already prestigious line up of Los Blancos. When asked if the decision had been difficult, the young player answered that this move was a dream come true and Real Madrid has always been his destination team; and one of the factors was a certain Portuguese star who James has revealed is his idol, he is beyond eager to meet Cristiano and learn as much as possible from him" the pretty blonde chirps off in an upbeat voice before regaling another Liverpool loss. 

His stomach churns in unease at her proclamations, James' words remind him of......himself, young and eager to prove himself to his idol at any cost. 

James would fit right in with the rest of the team able to easily converse with them unlike him, his Spanish lessons were improving but he still hesitated speaking to anyone in Spanish beyond greetings and small talk. 

But that isn't exactly what's making him so unsettled, he doesn't want to acknowledge his own stupid thought but he can't help it. 

Cristiano. 

James would get on great with his Portuguese, everyone was drawn to him and it was evident that James would be no different. Cris was his idol as well. 

He would follow Cris around praising his every move and asking for advice, trying to constantly be in his space as if he could learn from osmosis and Cris would love it; he wasn't as egotistical as the media made him out to be but he wasn't shy about discussing his many many accolades and James was fresh meat, someone he hadn't spoken to yet about his accomplishments. _No_ , he needed to stop he was being ridiculous why was he threatened hadn't Cris proved himself already? 

But he can't help but see the similarities between himself and James and look how his relationship with Cris faired, what if James has a particularly amazing game and Cris notices him as well? 

He tries to reason with his own doubts but in the back of his mind he can't silence the little voice asking "What if he replaces you, what if you're not enough?” and then finally “I can offer him more than you" and that voice oddly sounds like a certain soft spoken Colombian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm backkkk! And the boys are back and raring to go and we met the precious bebes! :) Hope you enjoyed all the fluffy fluff, the boys are gonna be leaving their love bubble soon and interacting with the team soon and drama will inevitably brew. Comment and kudos are my drug of choice and you are all my suppliers and they encourage me to supply the Baliano <3 I love to hear from you lovely people.


	9. Reclamación

The first meeting isn’t what Gareth expects in the slightest. Then again, _maybe_ it was ridiculous of him to imagine the young Colombian coming on the pitch and bodily throwing himself at Cristiano while offering sexual favors. 

Yes, he realizes how jealous and irrational it all seems, but those exact thoughts have been plaguing his mind since learning that the young Colombian star would be joining the team. 

The encounter is a lot more _normal_ , in actuality; James seems excited to meet the entire team and spends a good five minutes gesticulating at Iker while saying, “You’re Iker, _the_ Iker,” while the captain blushes in embarrassment and tries to sneak away. Meanwhile, Sergio is heavily insulted that he doesn’t get an equally awed reaction and loudly announces, “Well, _I’m_ Sergio, _the_ Sergio: Madrid’s stallion!” 

(None of them have been able to convince him that that nickname is just never going to catch on). Gareth isn’t even going to attempt to understand the horse-like noise he makes as his gallops around the pitch, shouting at Iker to ride him. 

He doesn’t miss Marcelo and Pepe smiling at the words and giving each other knowing looks, and he tries not to think about the sex lives of his captains. When Gareth finally meets the boy-and he truly looks like a boy, wide eyed and bursting with excitement about playing for the biggest club in the world-he can’t help but sympathize with him, remembering how it felt to be new as well. 

They greet each other, and it’s very polite and simple, until Cris arrives. _He could be on the set of a movie with how perfect he looks_ , Gareth thinks to himself: His hair is styled immaculately, not a strand out of place, and a beautiful smile is sketched across his face. Everyone has unintentionally gone quiet at his arrival, as they are wont to do whenever he makes his presence known. 

Then they all turn back to their conversations, and the moment is broken. James shyly walks to the Portuguese and introduces himself and Gareth cannot follow the lightning quick lines of Spanish. His Spanish might have improved, but it was pure shit before; now, it’s only upgraded to just plain, basic shit. 

It doesn't help that he had also become complacent by predominantly conversing with the English speaking members of the team to avoid embarrassing himself. He doesn’t know what’s being said, but James delicately looks down and Cris ruffles his hair before dragging him into a full body hug. 

He quickly looks away, feeling foolish for watching them in the first place. Cris can hug whoever he wants. _I need to stop being a jealous knob head_ , he reasons with himself, battling with the raging green-eyed monster he can feel emerging, despite his reluctance to acknowledge it. 

A flash of blonde hair catches his eye and this time it’s him who drags Luka away from his destination, needing a distraction from watching someone else hug his…….whatever Cris is. His mind supplies the word _boyfriend_ , but he doesn’t want to make assumptions or place ownership on Cristiano: they are both free to do whatever they want, and whomever they want. 

~~~~~~~~~~^^^^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^^^^~~~~~~~~

Training is fun and easygoing with everyone welcoming their new team mates, and Cris is thoroughly enjoying himself. They run a few laps and practice in groups, working on both defending and attacking. He notices immediately that James remains by his side the entire time, but he doesn’t necessarily mind; the boy is cute, and Celo clearly doesn’t mind his company, what with how friendly they become almost instantly. 

He enjoys watching the blush fill his sweet face, and it’s ridiculously easy to get the boy to do so: a simple smile or brush of skin is all it takes, really. He and Marcelo quickly make it a game to see who can make the young Colombian blush the most-currently, he is winning by a landslide. 

He’s watching the animated Brazilian teach the starry-eyed Colombian a secret handshake that he’s certain that his best friend just made up as an excuse to touch the boy-Marcelo is the most obnoxious flirt he’s ever met. Despite the antics of Marcelo and James, he has noticed that there is someone who seems to be avoiding him, and he’s seriously at a loss for why. It hasn’t escaped his notice that Gareth has been behaving strangely since he left with Alba that night they were all together, and he honestly has no idea why. 

He has tried to invite the Welshman over a countless number of times, and each request has been denied under the ruse of being busy settling in, or needing to rest for their next match. Perhaps Gareth is having second and third thoughts about them, but he’s not allowing another _Arbeloa situation_ again and he’s prepared to confront the Welshman about his avoidance. 

He’s decided that, after practice, they are going to have another chat about this relationship. Afterwards, they’re going to have loads of sex, because his hand is no longer enough-not after having his sweet boy. He has spent too many nights thinking about Gareth and all the things he wants to do to him. Their first night together replayed constantly in his head: How easily the Welshman had taken directions and was so eager to please, and he fantasized about ways he could take advantage of that submission-he can tie a mean knot. 

"What dirty things are on your mind now, you pervert?" He's knocked out of pleasurable thoughts by a familiarly annoying Portuguese voice; he doesn't know how Fabio is always aware of when he's thinking about sex. Well, maybe it's because he usually _is_ thinking about sex, but he always manages to interrupt him-such a cockblock, even mentally! 

"Nothing that you need to know about, Blondie. Maybe you need to go get a sex life so you can stop being so invested in mine, no?" Cris states snidely, and regrets it almost immediately, having forgotten that Fabio knows all about his sex life (or lack thereof).

"Awww, is someone grumpy because they've had to get reacquainted with their hand?" The asshole responds with an exaggerated pout, reaching over to pat Cris condescendingly on the shoulder.

"I weep for you and your lonely cock." If looks could kill, Madrid would be down one idiot defender-not that they don't have an abundance of those to begin with, it would be good riddance, really; three idiot defenders is far too much.

"My cock has gotten more action this summer than yours has all year," Cris triumphantly responds. Suddenly, he hears a small “Eep!”, and knows, based on the smirk on Fabio's face, that someone has overheard them. He turns to find huge chocolate eyes and a gaped mouth, which, naturally, belonged to their newest addition. A wildfire blush has taken over the young midfielder’s face and he hopes he hasn't broken the kid; he knows he has a bit of hero worship going on (boy, is he used to that now), and he knows how shocking it can be for people to learn that he's a real person with human needs. 

He's thinking of a way to apologize for scarring the Colombian when Iker rounds them up, seemingly in one of his _grande capitán_ moods. Sergio only slightly undermines the seriousness of the moment with his shouts of, "Gather round, kids; Papi has something to say!" Iker sighs in exasperation but can't help but grin when Sergio looks up with smiling eyes, waiting for his approval for rounding them up. 

Cris doesn't understand why anyone makes fun of him and Gaz when those two are around, love leaking from their pores. Speaking of Gaz… _Where is my Welshman?_ He wonders. A quick scan of the pitch reveals his absence and he turns to Pepe, who is suddenly beside him, to ask, "Where is Gareth?" only to meet disapproving eyes. 

"He had to leave training early-he got distracted and Dani's cleats caught his foot. He's in the physio room." Cris’s heartbeat speeds up; how could he have missed Gareth leaving the pitch?? Why didn't anyone tell him?? His thoughts are ricocheting around his mind and he almost misses Pepe's whisper: "You were probably too busy with the new guy to notice.” 

His other Portuguese mate is walking away from him, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about "new toys". _What. The. Fuck._ He's contemplating sneaking out on Iker's welcome speech to the new members, when James brushes against his shoulder and that permanent smile is on his youthful face, as always. He can't leave now, so he forces a smile back, wondering what he's missing today, and why the hell everyone is acting so strangely. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~^^^^~~~~~~~~~~~^^^^^^~~~~~~~~~~

Physicality. If there is one thing he's known for, it’s his physicality. And while others might view it as a flaw, Pepe is proud of his unabashed way of playing. Football isn't pretty; it’s war, won with blood, sweat, and tears, and he's no stranger to any of those. 

On paper, he and Gareth would seem like polar opposites, with the quiet Welshman hardly ever losing his temper or being on the receiving end of red and yellow cards. Gareth is not necessarily someone that he would associate with outside of the pitch; and yet, they've become friends without his knowledge (or intention, really). His English is comparable to that of a newborn learning to speak, and Gareth barely attempts to speak Spanish, stuttering out phrases and avoiding eye contact the entire exchange. 

Yet, still they become friends, standing together on the pitch and laughing at jokes that they both can appreciate, despite the language barrier. This newfound friendship has also gifted him with the ability to read Gareth’s emotions pretty well, so, naturally, Pep is able to see how uncomfortable Gareth is with James' attachment to a very unaware Portuguese superstar. 

Everyone who joins the team seems to fall for the Casanova, so this is nothing new, but this _is_ the first time that Cris is in a relationship. It's pretty much mandatory for them to tease Cris when it’s that obvious that a member has a crush on him, and James is as obvious as a _culé_ in the Bernabéu. He watches the entire team snickering whenever James smiles at Cris- which is every second of the day- and Sergio even goes as far as calling James the "new favorite," joking that Cris will replace them all with his newest fan. 

It's all done in good fun, of course: they had given Gareth the same exact treatment. But this time, there's Gareth and he's quiet-quieter than usual, speaking to no one but Luka and Toni, and avoiding looking anywhere near Cris or James. 

He's clearly distracted and lost inside his head, and Pep sees the collision before it occurs: Gareth kicking the ball towards Dani, but losing his balance and tipping forward, only to place his foot in the path of Dani's, which is reaching for the ball. It's a quick touch, but Dani's cleats sink into Gareth's skin, and a small grunt of pain is the only indicator that the Welshman felt anything at all. 

He's promptly whisked away and sent to physio to ensure there's no lasting effect, and the guilt on Dani's face is overwhelming. Pep pats Dani on the back before finding Cris, who is thoroughly distracted-too distracted, actually, to notice his boyfriend limping off the pitch. It probably wasn't his place to call Cris out but he knows how flirtatious his friend can be-he's watched him win the heart of countless members of the team without even trying. 

The look on Cris' face lets him know that this time, it's not intentional. Cris isn't trying to seduce James; he's simply being Cris. That, factored in with his ridiculous good looks, is enough to make anyone swoon. _Well, almost anyone_ , Pep thinks lightly. Cris is definitely a pretty boy, but he's _still_ a boy. 

He leaves in the middle of Iker's speech, knowing he won't be stopped because at this point, his teammates are all privy to his tendency to ignore social decorum. He walks into the physio room to find Gareth sitting down with his face hidden in his hands. 

"I've never seen you give up before", Pep announces. He's never been one for pussyfooting around: His words are scarce, but what they lack in eloquence, they make up for in brutal honesty. Shocked blue eyes meet his and watch his every move as he takes a seat. 

"Cris is Cris,” Pep starts. “He's the brightest star in the sky; always has been. But you're a star, too. And just because there are other stars in that sky, doesn't mean that you can't keep shining." He's vaguely reminded of a conversation he's had with his daughter and he keeps going: "I know what it feels like to feel like you're being replaced by a newer model, a better model. That's not what's happening here, though. He's still yours; nothing's changed unless you want it to, unless you don't want him. You're gonna have to start fighting for him at some point, the way he's always fought for you. Running has never solved anything except for on the pitch, you know that." 

His voice leaves no room for argument. Gareth is silent until he hears the rest of the team enter the locker room. Pep gives him a reassuring clap on the back and stands up to go find Dani-it seems he's just the king of comfort today. 

~~~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cris wants to go check on Gareth desperately, but it's as if the entire team is against him. They gather around him like a pack of unruly pups and the level of excitement in the room is exponentially high. 

Sergio leads the activity, as usual, shouting about how they _have_ to go clubbing to celebrate the new members of the team, and he knows the perfect place. He’s about to take advantage of the temporary distraction when a cherubic face fills his line of vision, and he has to step back to prevent himself from colliding with an eternally grinning Colombian. 

“Cristiano, can we talk?” The younger man innocently ponders. Despite his previous rush, he finds himself unable to deny the boy so he nods his agreement. “I don’t want things to be weird because of…. You know, the thing—um out there about your…?” Cris is momentarily unsure of what exactly they’re discussing before he watches James gaze travel down to his crotch, and-oh! 

That! They’re talking about that! 

He feels a smile making a way to his face, and he’s about to brush the entire situation off, because honestly, it wasn’t a big deal, and it’s definitely not the worst thing he’s gonna hear being around this group of perverse deviants. Speaking of perverse deviants, Sergio is making his way over to him, and that swagger in his step is never a good sign; Sergio himself is an omen for bad things; certainly no good can come of that Cheshire grin spread menacingly across his face. 

“Cris! Little Jamesinho! Why are you two hiding in the corner? It wouldn’t have to do with something a little birdie told me about you corrupting our sweet little James with your talks about your not-so-little Ronaldo, would it?” Sergio’s smirking face is the epitome of nonchalant evil and he wraps tattooed arms around the both of them, basking in the air of embarrassment that he has created. 

_Cállate su boca, sucia_ -those words are on the tip of Cris’s tongue, but he hears a locker door open and slam ominously in the surprising death silence of the locker room. His heart sinks further after seeing Pepe look sympathetically at an empty space-the looming number 11. 

Cris shrugs off Sergio’s hold on him, sending a gaze to Iker that the captain immediately interprets with a curt nod.“Okay, _chicos, vamos_ , we’re done in here.” Cris doesn’t miss the way Iker grips the back of Sergio’s neck like a mother lion scolding her wayward cub, and for once, Sergio is submissive and allows himself to be pulled away. 

“What’s going on?” James is staring at the captain and the rest of the players exiting the locker room for seemingly no reason. Marcelo is the one to come to his rescue. “We all got a little carried away and hurt someone in the process, that’s all I can say. Right now, we need to give Cris some space.” The explanation does not rectify any of the confusion on the young man’s face but he follows quietly regardless, trusting his team mates to know best, although giving Cristiano space is the last thing on his mind. 

The locker room is empty, and the sound of running water is loud enough to drown out Cris’s thoughts, but barely so. 

He impatiently waits for Gareth to come out of the shower and stop running away from him today. He had gotten looks of apology from the members of the team as they left the locker room over Iker’s watch-all except for Pepe, who looked at him with barely hidden contempt, which threw him off. Pepe was one of his oldest friends; someone he could trust to be completely honest with him, no matter what. 

But Cris wasn’t stupid. He knew that this had to do with Gareth and their newfound friendship. He had seen Pepe leave in the middle of Iker’s impromptu speech, wondering if he was going to check on Gareth, and his look was enough confirmation that they had spoken, and something had happened today to make Gareth feel the need to pull away and confide in Pepe. So, he waits. 

He continues to think while he waits, and he realizes how little he’s seen of his boy today; they’d all been swept away in the whirlwind of their new arrivals, and he’d been unable to get past James and check on Gareth when he found out he’d been hurt. His mind is still racing with thoughts when he hears footsteps on the floor volume increasing until finally, Gareth is standing there, towel hung low on his sharp hips, and a pure look of shock on a whitewashed face. “What---what are you doing here? I thought you all left,” and those eyes he loves so much are pointedly looking down, avoiding his seeking gaze. 

Gareth turns away to his cubby to retrieve his clothes that have been laid out, wriggling boxers up under his towel before discarding the towel completely. Cris moves as silently as a panther, stalking up behind the unaware boy before drawing his body close to his own, hands instinctively moving to caress those hips, and head burrowing into the wet locks of apple-scented hair. 

Before he can get too comfortable, though, Gareth spins around with wounded eyes, piercing into his very soul. “Don’t,” he whispers, and that single word rocks him like an earthquake estimating a 9.0 on his emotional Richter scale-what exactly is going on here? “I just need some time to think on my own.” “Time to think about **what?** ” 

Cris’s question is coated in all the frustration he’s feeling, and he doesn’t notice he’s cornered Gareth into the wall until his gaze unconsciously lands on those cherry red lips that he hasn’t had the chance to taste in far too long. He’s contemplating how likely it is that he could steal a kiss, when Gareth further rocks his world (and not even in the good, _dirty_ way) and shouts, “Don’t you **DARE** come to me when someone else has gotten you all worked up!!!” 

The silent threat is audible; this is a side of the Welshman he has never been privy to in the entirety of their relationship. The accusatory tone of his statement immediately raises his hackles, and he answers before he can censor him. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’ve forced me to become best friends with my hands in the past weeks and now you’re accusing me of….. what? _What exactly are you accusing me, of Gaz?!_ ” 

“Nothing! I know you haven’t done anything. Not _yet_ , at least.” Cris can feel the anger bubbling under his skin, and he wants to grab Gareth and shake him, shake some sense into him. “ _Yet?_ What do you mean, ‘not yet’? Are you sexiling me to see if I’ll cheat on you?” He shakes his head in disbelief of this entire conversation, not at all what he planned to be discussing in an empty locker room with his supposed lover. 

Gareth is flushed in anger as well, fists bunched tightly, sparks practically shooting off his skin. "Is that all it would take for you to cheat on me, me not having sex with you? Are you tempted right now? I know someone who would **HAPPILY** help you out with your little problem!” 

This is suddenly all very real-they are _actually_ fighting. Gareth is intentionally trying to make him angry; a small voice in his mind is telling him _not_ to rise to the oh-so-obvious bait, but he’s frustrated beyond belief-both physically and emotionally-so logical thinking is thrown by the wayside as he hears himself say, “You know what? You’re right, Gareth you’re completely right. All I care about is sex. And since you _clearly_ don’t want to have sex with me anymore, I guess I should just go.” 

With that, he turns to leave, not seeing the way that Gareth’s face crumbles, eyes flooding with tears and anger all but fleeing his body, only to be replaced with pure unadulterated heartbreak. His whispered, “Wait,” passes unheard through the deafening silence. 

~~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The club is packed with hot gyrating bodies, and Sergio immediately leads them all to a private booth, hips moving to the pulsating beat of another mindless dance song. " _Bailando, bailando, bailando, bailando!_ " _As if a song lyric could be more cliché and ridiculous._ Iker knows if Sese could hear his thoughts, he would be accusing him of being a “grumpy old man", and spend the entire night trying to teach him the words to every song so he will smartly keep his thoughts to himself. 

Following the incident in the locker room he had taken the team away (bar James and Toni), to scold them for their excessive teasing today that had led to the hurt feelings of one of their own. He understood that it was all done in good fun, and he was no stranger to teasing Cristiano about his ever growing fan club, but it had gone too far today. 

He had seen the way Gareth had all but folded into himself throughout the training, finding excuses to escape any conversation about the obviously infatuated Colombian. It was also clear to anyone on the team that Cris only had eyes for Gareth, but the boy himself did not seem too sure of his own standing. Sergio has been the most vocal in his apology, openly saddened by his careless actions. Surprisingly enough, it had been Pepe who had stepped forward and told them all to “Grow up,” before wandering off again, mumbling something about needing empanadas for all his hard work today, and that had been that. 

Iker didn’t want to make this more serious than necessary, and he figured going out would be a nice boost to the now deflated team morale; ergo, clubbing seemed like the perfect solution. He’s drawn back from his thoughts by Sergio leaning over to whisper hotly in his ear: 

“I’m going to dance, you wanna come?” He sits down resolutely before Sergio can attempt to drag him on the dance floor; he's not nearly drunk enough to make a fool of himself, or to watch Sergio make a fool of himself. 

He almost regrets his decision at seeing the Spaniard pull a willing Isco on the dance floor, placing broad hands on those compact hips while dragging their bodies together. He forces his eyes away before he can get too...distracted by the sight, knowing what game Sergio is playing ; this time, however, he's determined to come out the victor. A big swallow of his beer calms his frayed nerves and qualms his burgeoning arousal. 

He spots the Portuguese Mafioso in a corner, with Fabio and Pepe surrounding Cris like bodyguards as they tend to whenever they're out. The French alliance are here as well, and Iker does a double take at their outfits because Karim is bravely (stupidly) wearing an all gold outfit with matching shoes and fitted hat. 

His eyes are seriously offended, and what’s even worse is he's somehow convinced poor impressionable Rapha to wear the silver version of this hideous getup. _I really need to find a better role model for that kid,_ Iker thinks to himself. 

He's pondering alternatives when he hears loud chants: "Go James, go James!" He doesn't have to look far to find the Colombian in question, grinding on.....is that Toni?? But regardless of who his partner is, all eyes are on the seemingly innocent boy who looks like heaven but is dancing like pure sin. 

Iker can't drag his eyes away from those hypnotizing hips- they _really_ don't lie. "He's hot, right? He's dancing with Toni, but look who he's watching." Sergio's breath is hot in his ear once again, and he has to suppress a shudder before following the line of James' heated gaze, which leads to…Cristiano. Of course. 

That’s no surprise. " _Coño!_ How am I supposed to run a team when every time I turn around, someone is swooning over Cris?!" He grumbles, legitimately annoyed because they _just_ went through this with another lovesick puppy and that saga was exasperating enough. "Don't worry about it. Cris always figures it out. Now come dance with me. I promised Isco we would have an Iker sandwich and we're both very hungry," Sergio winks, and _fucking hell_ , he should be immune to Sergio's obvious attempts at flirting, but everyone had their weaknesses, and his has always been a certain hot tempered Sevillan. 

Iker allows himself to be pulled onto the dance floor and sandwiched between Sergio and a smirking Isco, who rubs his body all over his as soon as he’s in vicinity. Sometimes, his life isn't too bad, Iker thinks. 

~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot_. 

Those are his sole thoughts as he sits on his leather couch alone, imagining all the ways that James can successfully make Cristiano forget all about him; with his sexy Latin moves, and deceiving sweet face. He’ll never truly fit in with them, he thinks self-deprecatingly. The rest of the team is boisterous and charismatic. Even Iker, who is more low-key, has a certain appeal to him that draws people like moths to a flame. 

Gareth, on the other hand, is still just an insecure boy who needs constant reassurance. He’s done the right thing, he tells himself. This wouldn’t have lasted anyway; he’s just circumvented the inevitable. But if that’s true, then why does he does be feel like kicking himself? 

The buzzing of his phone distracts him from his self-loathing; he almost ignores the generic iPhone ring, but a quick glance reveals it’s his mum ringing and he answers on a whim. “Hullo mum,” he tries to answer normally, and before he knows what’s going on, she’s asking him what’s wrong and he’s pouring his heart out to her, just like when he was a young boy and someone had teased him again about looking like a primate. It still cuts pretty deep when people, even fans compare him to a monkey. 

She remains silent as always, a good listener above all. When he’s done regaling the disaster that was his day, she speaks: “Now, I know I didn’t raise a quitter. There were people who thought that Madrid was making a mistake spending all that money on you, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to join the club. It was your dream, and you accomplished it with hard work, pure determination, and a good dash of talent, baby. You of all people know there will be haters; it’s just sad right now that your biggest hater is you. If you don’t think you’re worth having Cristiano, then someone will take him and you will have to watch him fall in love with someone else. I don’t think you want that, and I know a certain three-year old who would have something to say about losing her Cristianos, so stop being afraid and go take what’s yours.” 

As usual, she’s right-irrefutably correct, actually. He's no quitter, and he's done enough running to last him a lifetime. “Mum, how did you get so wise? Wait, don’t answer that! I need to go change, but I love you and I’ll come see you soon!” He hastily ends the call, hearing her, “Love you too, Gare-Bear!” before rushing to change, but first, he sends a quick text to Arbeloa, requesting the address of the club. While he’s waiting for a reply, he walks to his huge closet, looking over his clothes. 

He’s scanning haplessly before something catches his eyes: A gift he had received from the Portuguese himself. He remembers blushing hard and taking the gift with no real intent of ever wearing it. He hesitates to pick up the article of clothing, but then firmly reminds himself: _I'm doing this for Cris. No one else matters._

Once he's done changing, he grabs his car keys and flies out the door. Reaching the club in record time, he's immediately guided inside and he easily finds the group; they are the loudest, of course, and their volume has attracted the attention of all the other patrons of the club (as if they haven't already noticed that they are famous footballers). Alvaro is the first to notice his arrival, and his eyes are running up and down Gareth’s body like a physical caress, before leaving the group to saunter over to him. 

The alcohol radiates from Alvaro’s body; suddenly, there are strong slightly sweaty arms encompassing him, and he instinctively returns the embrace. The music is too loud for him to hear the words being whispered into his ear, but he catches, " _Maravilloso_ , gorgeous," and that has him blushing before he can stop himself. 

The hug lasts a bit longer than he's expecting, and he moves to draw back before Alvaro tightens his hold and rocks them back and forth, initiating a slow dance that's perfectly in tune with the new song blasting from the speakers. Their dance is fairly innocent before he feels the hands on his hips start to wander, brushing across an exposed strip of skin before moving lower, lower..... 

Gareth stops their movement, taking a step back from Alvaro’s overly amorous embrace. “You’re drunk, and I’m here for someone else. But thank you for answering my text.” With that, he gives Arbì a light pat on his bearded cheek before walking away to find his Portuguese but first making a quick stop at the bar, to order a drink or two. 

He takes note of all his team mates’ reactions upon his arrival, their eyes burning holes through the tight contraction his clothing of choice. Maybe wearing leather was the right choice.

~~~~~~~~~^^~~~~~~~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pounding beat of the music in the club is giving him a minor headache; he really shouldn't have let Fabio convince him to come out tonight, he's horrible company right now. Gareth's infuriated eyes flashed in his mind-he'd spent this summer bringing joy to those pale-blue paradises, and he can feel himself regretting his words, not meaning one bit of what he'd said. He was just so _angry_ that Gareth was blocking him out again, using his razor sharp tongue to hit Cris where it hurt. He _hated_ when Gareth made it seem like he was only interested in sex. 

He loved sex-especially sex with the pale Welshman-but their relationship was way more than another release. Cris thought he had proven that, but clearly he hadn’t, and he still didn’t understand what exactly had made his lover so angry today. 

“You need to stop thinking so hard. It’s seriously harshing my buzz,” Fábio slurred, due to his excessive drinking. Cris can see that his agitation isn’t having any effect on Fábio’s alcohol consumption because the idiot is already sloshed. “You know, James has been trying to get your attention for a while now, maybe you should put the poor boy out of misery,” he drawls on. 

There it is again: Someone making a comment on him and James. _Why does everyone keep doing that?_ he wonders. He’s not blind; he has noticed the younger man dancing in front of him with Toni, but he’s _with_ Toni, and he had thought that meant more than the fact that they happened to be dancing in front of him. But when he looks up, those doe brown eyes are centered right on his face, and he watches a small pink tongue make its way across pouty lips. 

Oh. 

_Oh_. James’ hips are as fluid as water, and Toni is clearly struggling to move with them, but James is uncaring-all his attention focused on him, and Cris feels his body heat up with the intensity of that gaze fleeting all over. He’s stuck in this fucking _staring contest_ when Pepe lets out a low whistle, which breaks his focus on the young Colombian. He turns to ask Pepe who has captured his attention, when Fábio nudges his shoulders and tilts his head in the direction of the rest of the group. 

His eyes are drawn to a tall, lithe body wrapped up in leather pants so tight they might as well be painted on, and a deep blue shirt that has a sheen, which slightly sparkles in the bright neon lights of the night club. The leather is tight and spread generously across the ass of its occupant , and the tightness of the shirt reveals a tampered, trim waist that he wants to wrap his arms around and squeeze. _Shit, what am I thinking? I’m a taken man. I can’t check out other men_. 

He’s berating himself for his indiscretion when he hears Pepe telling Fábio that they should go get some drinks from the bar. He’s about to offer to come with, to get away from this tempting boy, when he feels a hand pressing down on his shoulders, effectively stopping his motion. Cris steadies himself, ready to (reluctantly) reject the unknown man. “I’m sorry, I have a---“ His words break off at the huff of laughter he hears at his attempts to dissuade this flirtation. 

When he looks up, he’s blown away: Gareth’s smiling face peers down on him, and he loses any breath he had left when his boy straddles his lap, arms wrapping around his neck, and effectively cutting off any transmission to his brain. “I’m sorry-” That’s all he allows Gareth to say before devouring his mouth in a kiss that is messy, wet and rough, tongues meeting in a dance that is as old as time as his hands cup those leather covered cheeks, giving them a rough squeeze, and swallowing the gasp that escapes. 

The sexual charge is so palpable in the air, but Cris could care less; their hips are grinding to the dirty beat of the music pounding through the club. _I feel so close to you right now, it’s a force field_. His blood is raging, heading south, and leaving him lightheaded. 

Their mouths disconnect when the need for oxygen becomes too strong; he drags in deep gulps of air, quivering when he feels a wet slide from his collar bone all the way up to his ear lobes, which are taken into a hot, moist mouth. He feels hands running through his hair-gripping, and pulling his neck back, exposing more of his neck. Wet kisses are placed on the expanse of his neck, sucking bites littered in between hot puffs of breath, making him feel overheated and overstimulated. 

His cock is hard in the confines of his tight denim jeans, and the friction of their arousals rubbing together even through the layers of clothing is too much. “Fuck, Gaz, so hot, so fucking hot,” he barely breathes out. He feels that body melt into his own hips, undulating, with no inhibitions, and dragging over his cock, making him feel like he’ll explode any minute now. He knows that they should stop, but his head is clouded with the scent of their sticky, sweet sex. 

He grabs those hips, moving them faster with his own; chasing the sun, the burning hot release. “Come dance with me,” Gareth’s accented voice demands while leaving his lap, causing him to groan. _So close!_

But a hand slides into his own, and all but drags him to the crowded dance floor, people seeming to part for them like the Red Sea. They rock together, face-to-face, sneaking kisses and looking into each other’s eyes: Vivid blues clashing with warm browns, lost in their own world. Gareth slowly turns and presses his back to Cris’ front and that’s _heaven_ ; that plush ass is back where it belongs, grinding on his cock. 

He tightens his hold on his hips, and burrows his head in the sweaty wetness that lingers on the back of Gareth’s neck. His chin is resting on Gareth’s shoulder as they ignore the fast pace of the new song, lost in the song of their bodies. His fingers have made their way under his thin shirt, playing with pebbled nipples and pinching them to full hardness, when he catches Arbeloa’s eyes. 

Those very eyes are attentively watching Gareth’s every movement until they make eye contact, which Cris maintains while rubbing all over Gareth like a cat in heat, turning _his_ boy’s head to plant a possessive kiss on his mouth, that’s more teeth than anything else. 

This is the first time he notices the bitter taste of liquor on Gareth’s tongue and that _certainly_ explains his wanton behavior-his boy had gotten a bit of liquid courage, and he surprisingly has no problem with that, because he’s _definitely_ enjoying the outcome. Gareth is a wriggling mess at this point, and he knows that if they stay here any longer they might get arrested for indecent exposure, because he’s just _dying_ to rip his clothes off and force Gareth down on his knees to put that moaning mouth to better use. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he commands in his rumbling baritone, pulling Gareth toward the exit, not leaving much room for argument (not that Gareth doesn’t seem more than willing to go wherever he’s leading). 

He’s making his way through the bodies, when suddenly James is there, looking like he’s been dancing non-stop the entire night, washed in sweat and cheeks red from exhaustion. “Cristiano! There you are! We’ve been looking for you!” He shouts excitedly, reaching to grab his arm and guide him back to the rest of the group, but he doesn’t get a chance to because Gareth slips from behind him, his presence alone throwing James off; he must not have noticed him behind his own body. 

He watches them watch each other, James taking in Gareth’s leather pants and disheveled shirt before realization washes across his face. He doesn’t miss the answering smirk on Gareth’s lips, who merely stands defiantly, looking at James. The tension is stifling before he hears Sergio calling them over: “ _Oye_ , lovebirds! You stopped having sex on the dance floor? Come have drinks with us!” 

Cris doesn’t think anyone should be having more drinks, but Gareth pulls him over to the group, and he can feel James following behind. Sergio rushes over with open arms that encompass Gareth before groping his ass; Cris brandishes the offending appendage with a loud smack. “Hey! Hands off! That ass is claimed!” The words leave his mouth without his permission, and Gareth looks back at him with an indistinguishable look. 

Their eyes are locked until Sergio’s loud laughter draws them back. They all take a seat before Sergio is offering drinks to Gareth and James. A glass of cranberry juice and seltzer water is placed in his hands and he nods his head in gratitude. He’s seated between Gareth and James, both of their body heats soaking into his skin. He gulps down his drink in the hopes that it will qualm this raging heat inside of him.

“Do you want to?” The breathy question is asked as a wondering hand strokes up his inner thigh, and he almost spits out his drink before he catches his composure. He turns to look at Gareth, staring into lust-glazed pretty blue eyes, not quite understanding what he’s being asked. “Do I want what?” Cris inquires.

“To claim my ass,” Gareth seductively replies, and consequently makes him feel likes his tongue has transformed into the Sahara Desert. The shameless Welshman doesn’t stop there. “I want you to claim my ass, really badly. I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Maybe I’ll see you in there,” Gareth purrs before squeezing his thigh, and then he’s gone. “Fucking tease”, Cris bites out. He watches Gareth disappear into the bathroom, looking over his shoulder with a very evident _come hither_ looks etched onto that gorgeous face. How could he possibly resist that? He swallows down the last of his drink, and stalks off after his boy. 

Neither noticing the soulful brown eyes that follow their trail to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back my little lambs!! (I've taken to calling you guys that in my head jaja) So we got lots of different POV's this chapter and one of my favorites was Pepe, I love Uncle Pep! Also we got a nice peek at slutty drunk Gareth ;) I would feel bad about the way I ended things but I figured you all might need a moment to.... cool off. But I won't keep you wanting for too long and I will deliver in the next chapter and we get inside the mind of someone new, as the drama continues! 
> 
> As always a big thank you to my beta and wife, Miss Gray; who recently made me the happiest woman on earth when she got me a Real Madrid calendar, such a bae!! <3 kudos and comments give me life, don't you wanna keep me alive my lambs??


	10. Posesión

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's me again :D writing bug bit and this happened. No new POV this chapter but you guys can probably guess who it's gonna be ;) so enjoy the sex and see you all in the next chapter where things will get messy and fun!

_What am I doing?_ Is the first thought that Gareth has when he stumbles into the bathroom, escaping the neon lights of the club and the melodic notes of the new hit song that he’s heard on the radio a few times this week. 

Seeing James dancing with Toni in _front_ of Cris had made his blood boil; this boy was shameless clearly willing to do anything to capture the attention of the Portuguese star, but what had made his blood alternatively go ice-cold was witnessing the way Cris watched him _back_. Cris had seemed mesmerized by the fluid motion of the Colombians hips, their eyes locked in a heated stare off that made him fear what could have occurred if he hadn’t intervened. 

So he’d downed another shot of tequila: his drink of choice for the night to the vast amusement of Dani who’d he ran into on his way to take back his wondering Portuguese, ignoring his teasing “You come to stake your claim?” He didn’t want to own Cristiano that wasn’t his aim and honestly that sort of mentality was not healthy for a relationship, but he couldn’t sit by passively as someone else tried to gain his affections. Those were all his.

He was taking Pepe’s advice. 

That brought him back to this very moment, he hadn’t planned on goading Cris to…..meet him in the bathroom but seeing James’ heart-filled eyes directed at _his_ boyfriend (that’s exactly what Cris was) made him want to show James and everyone else that Cris was his in all the ways that mattered. 

Sweat streamed down the back of his neck signaling his anxiety, _what if Cris doesn’t come? What was I thinking? I’m never drinking again_. His thoughts ricocheting through his muddled mind as he steps to the sink splashing water onto his red-heated face, peering back at his own reflection before he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he’s no longer alone. 

_Sweet Jesus_ , Cris is gorgeous in a way that seems inhumane. 

Their eyes connect in the mirror and he can practically _feel_ that heated gaze burning into his skin, he watches as Cris gets closer to him until he’s close enough to touch and touch he does; hands immediately grasping his hips into a tight uncompromising hold. 

"You’re jealous” he watches as those word leave that sinful red mouth before he goes rigid, “You’ve been jealous all day” all said in a no nonsense tone and he doesn’t know _how to respond_ , it's the unabashed truth but he feels foolish now following his ridiculous outburst in the locker room. He feels his body being spun around and willingly allows it until they are face-to-face nothing between them besides a sexual energy that appears to always be present, the elephant in the room.

"You were fucking _hot_ out there I wanted to rip your clothes off and do you right there on the floor” those words knock all thoughts out of his mind and the way Cris leans forward and licks the inseam of his lips certainly doesn’t help his endeavor to comprehend what is going on. Fitting his arms around the Portuguese’s neck brings their body in even closer proximity until their hips are touching, it’s clear where this is leading and he’s ready to make his own accusations now. 

“I see the way you look at him, the way you were looking at him out there as he put on his little _show_ for you” he’s basically just admitted that he’s jealous so the answering smirk on Cris’ face surprises him because he’d expected another fight or at least a denial on his part but he gets nothing, Cris is unapologetic simply smiling back as if to say “so what?” and _now_ he’s pissed off. 

Fuck what he said earlier, Cris is _his_. 

Grabbing the baby soft hair at the back of Cris’ neck he drag _his_ Portuguese in for a claiming kiss, biting and kicking his way into that red hot mouth tongues dueling for dominance; a battle he quickly wins by rocking into the hard cock pressing into his stomach. “Cheater” Cris hisses as he continues to fondle his erection and he feels reckless and dirty, this is all so unlike him and he’s basking in this momentary departure from himself. 

Cris’ eyes are fully blown and fogged up with lust and he can feel his want wafting off his body and it surges up all the want he’s been suppressing since he heard that the Colombian would be joining their team, those weeks without Cristiano were some of the longest of his life. He’d missed everything: his smile, his laugh, his touch, his……..he feels the hot stain of blush on his cheeks remembering all those lonely nights spent with a handful of himself and a mindful of Cristiano. Moaning and screaming his release, sticky mess all over his hands dripping onto the sheets never enough to satisfy his need; a need only the man himself could sate. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“You, how much I’ve missed you. “ 

He can see the toll his words have on the superstar his entire beautiful face softening, a pure smile making its way across his face and be wonders how anyone could ever consider this man, arrogant? He reaches out to touch that smile blown away that he’s the one that put it there and has been putting it there this entire summer, suddenly all his jealously floats away and he only knows one thing: he wants to show Cris how much he’s missed him. 

He kisses down his neck licking the salty-sweet sweat that lingers on his skin, next come his perky nipples that are making their presence known even through the starch of his pressed button-down shirt and then he easily bends down to his knees until he’s eye level with Cris’ crotch. He glances up to see Cris’ lips opened in shock before his attention returns to his goal: sucking off his lover so good that he forgets everything but his name and his mouth. 

The metallic drag of zipper is loud in his ear as he pulls the zipper down and now it’s his turn to be shocked, there’s nothing under those tight jeans, commando. 

_Fucking hell_ Cris had been commando all night even when they’d been grinding on the dance floor like they were trying to make a fire with the friction of their bodies. 

He grips the bright red head feeling the wet warm skin under his hands before he loses his patience and leans forward to taste that warmth, Cris’ groan of approval loud in the room despite the pounding music. He swallows down the entire cock until he can feel a nudge at the back of his throat, humming around the welcomed weight in his mouth. “Fuck Gaz, your mouth!----“ hearing Cris’ loss of control fuels his need and he pulls off entirely with a filthy wet _pop_ before plunging back choking himself and loving it; moaning and humming around the cock, spit dripping down the sides of his mouth. 

The rough scratch of Cris’ denim begins to rub at his skin so he draws back for the last time, “No don’t st---“ Cris starts to beg and he hushes him before tucking him back inside before yanking his pants down to his ankles. _Damn_ , it’s huge and beautiful and he needs that back in his mouth, _now_. 

He fondles the heavy balls tightly hanging under and gives them a light squeeze Cris’ moans music to his hears before he sucks his cock back into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down in a gradual motion that quickly speeds up and Cris hips follow his frantic pace. “Ahh—hhhhh---“ the Portuguese has been reduced to a whimpering mess head thrown back in pleasure, eyes tightly shut and his hands tightly gripping Gareth’s hair. 

He and Cris had both been surprised to learn how much he _enjoyed_ sucking cock, like truly enjoyed it. He had taken to waking Cris up in the mornings with an impromptu blow job not able to keep his hands or lips to himself, his lover had been more than willing to indulge his obsession. 

Just like now and he almost misses the sound of the door opening and when he glances behind Cristiano, he finds the very person that he’s been avoiding all day: James Rodríguez. The boy stops in his tracks lips forming a perfect _O_ and eyes so wide they remind him of two huge chocolate pies, and he knows that he should be embarrassed about being caught like this on his knees sucking Cris like his dick is the only thing keeping him alive. 

But, he doesn’t stop sucking; actually starts to suck harder, faster, _deeper_ making Cris groan, shaking from the overload of pleasure. 

If the boy wants to stay and watch then he's going to give him the show of a lifetime, remind him who's already been here for a year. 

Artic blue eyes meet soulful browns and he palms Cris’ perfectly rounded ass to drag him further into his mouth, tonguing the head of the cock the way he knows drives his lover crazy and this time is no different with Cris screaming, “Gaz I’m coming—I’m coming!” And he knows he’s being vindictive but he’s happy that the Colombian flirt has found them like this, happy to show him that despite his attempts at seduction he is the one who gets to pleasure the Portuguese, it’s _his_ mouth that brings him to the precipice of erupting and _his_ name on his tongue when he eventually tips over crashing into the ocean of sweet, sweet release. 

With those vengeful thoughts in mind he pulls off just in time to feel the sticky whiteness cover his face closing his eyes, drowning in Cris’ juices. 

A few moments pass and all he can hear is Cris’ labored breathing, he carefully opens his come-covered eyes and finds Cris peering down on him in _awe_. He slowly licks away the come that has landed on his lips, savoring the bitter taste that he’s grown accustomed to. The Portuguese is on his knees in record time grabbing his face and devouring his mouth, licking the come from his mouth and palming his hard cock, making promises to _wreck_ him. 

The sound of the bathroom door closing goes unnoticed by them both.


	11. Apuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nice guys don't always finish last.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, _Jamesinho_. Was there a couple getting frisky in the bathrooms?” Marcelo waggles his eyebrows lasciviously at James, a dirty smirk etched on his handsome face, and the accuracy of the loud Brazilian’s words knocks the shell-shocked Colombian out of his dazed stupor. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he decided to follow Cristiano and the young Welshman to the bathroom, but the erotic scene that met him was the _last_ thing he could have imagined. 

He’d seen the slight smirk on Sergio’s sweaty face has he’d made an excuse to shadow the pair after their quick exit from the table. “I’m just gonna… bathroom,” he muttered. Yeah, maybe he should have heeded the warning that Iker’s ever present frown presented, but he was too focused on being near the Portuguese, who seemed to be evading him the entire night. 

Marcelo had caught him on his way to the bathroom, pulling him into an amorous hold; hip to hip, chest to chest, his gorgeous hair appearing to twinkle mischievously under the neon lights of the night club. _Such a gorgeous smile_ , he can’t help but think as he stares it in the face, feeling his own lips curl up into a matching smile and unable to remain unaffected in the face of such luminance.  


The music changes from the loud pounding beat that has been drowning out the drumming of his heart to something smoother, lower, _sexier_. Suddenly, he’s reminded of what he was doing and he has to steel himself to drift away from the ever-tempting Brazilian. 

Marcelo attempts to bring their bodies back into contact, but James places a hand on his cheek, shaking his head while stepping back, before stalking off and refusing to analyze that statically charged moment between himself and Marcelo. Instead, he decides to blame the abundance of drinks they’ve all consumed tonight and their shared affinity for flirting. Marcelo is great-wonderful, really, someone who has whole-heartedly accepted him into the team, and he can already tell they are going to be close friends. 

But Cristiano is _captivating_ , and has easily garnered his full attention and attraction. He’s noticed other men before: _Marcelo, Toni, Isco, Sergio_ have all been added to his lists because one thing he’s immediately noticed is that his team is not lacking for ridiculously attractive men. 

But none, _none_ evoke the sort of overwhelming passion that Cristiano does. He knows it’s mildly due to his hero worshipping but now that he knows the man behind the myths, his attraction has almost tripled in intensity. He’d been worried that his fixation might scare the Portuguese away, but that hasn’t seemed to be the case at all. The team had teased him and joked that he was a fan boy, but Cristiano himself had been kind and funny. 

He never made him feel as if he were troubling him, instead always offering advice and assistance on and off the pitch. He now thinks the attraction might not be as one-sided after seeing the way the striker watched him dance with Toni, predatory eyes devouring his every move until he’d been distracted by- 

Gareth. 

The quiet, shy guy he couldn’t quite get a grasp on. The locker room scene had gravely confused James, and then they’d absconded to the bathroom _together_. 

Perhaps the answer should have been obvious, but he honestly never saw them as an option. Gareth was _nice_ , sure, but he didn’t seem like Cris’ type. He’d stood, mouth agape, by the sight that greeted him; Cristiano’s back turned to him with his pants down, hips thrusting uncontrollably into the warm, wet moaning mouth that was obscenely dragging him deep and deeper. 

Even more shocking was the owner of the mouth: _Gareth Bale_. He could physically feel the blush crawling up his face as jealously raged inside his chest. _That should be me_ , he seethed, and that thought was exactly what he should _not_ have be thinking at that moment . As if things couldn’t get any worse, his egregiously inappropriate train of thoughts kept him from noticing Gareth looking up. 

Those icy blue orbs locked on him, defiant. Once their eyes met, James found himself unable to look away. Honestly, he expected Gareth to cave first, yes he was _clearly_ intruding on a private moment. 

But Gareth was the one on his knees with a _cock_ in his mouth, for Christ’s sake ( _and what a cock it is!_ James thought to himself) but he never looked away, gaze strong as steel even with spit glistening on his obscenely opened mouth. Cristiano, who was oblivious to this standoff of sorts, started to lose control and Gareth suddenly drew back from the cock he was hungrily devouring, only for it to explode _all over his face_. 

James bolted. 

He simply could not stay and witness anymore of this impromptu _porno_ playing out in the bathroom. And now here he is, still unsure of how to deal with what he’s seen tonight. Marcelo is looking at him with widened eyes and he realizes that his continued silence served as an answer to his disturbingly spot-on inquiry. “No, no of course not! I think I just had too much to drink,” James shouts over the music, plastering a smile onto his face and dragging the overtly observant Brazilian away from the proverbial scene of the crime, not yet ready to face either Real Madrid stars. 

The rest of the night passes by in a blur and he practically wears Marcelo like a coat, not allowing him to stray too far desperate for his company and protection from the _happy_ couple, because once they rejoin the group, they are beaming and cannot seem to keep their hands to themselves. Even Sergio’s teasing, “Have fun in the bathroom?” doesn’t disturb their blinding glow. 

Cris simply winks and licks his lips, dragging Gareth onto his lap and ignoring his squeak of surprise and his attempts to dislodge himself, tightening his hold before nuzzling his ears and not-whispering, “Don’t act shy now, you’ve lost that right tonight,” causing the blushing Welshman to hide his face in the Portuguese’s shoulder and the catcalls start pouring in, with Sergio the loudest participant. “Gareth, you dirty boy, I didn’t know you had it in you!” They all know the joke is coming (ha!) before Pepe adds, “Oh he had it in him!” 

The laughter is deafening; James looks around and sees that he and Arbeloa appear to be the only ones not partaking in the joke. 

_Interesting_ , he thinks, making a mental note. 

He spends the rest of the night stuck to Marcelo and purposely avoiding even looking in their direction, but he doesn’t miss when Gareth stumbles out of Cristiano’s lap at the insistence of Isco, who drags the resistant boy back onto the dance floor where they are soon joined by a handsy Sergio. 

They aren’t dancing for two full minutes before he sees Cristiano rise out of his seat, grumbling. “Damn Sergio doesn’t know how to keep his hands off things that aren’t his.” James reluctantly looks over to find Sergio plastered to a giggling Gareth, who seems to have lost all his inhibitions. Sergio sees the angry Portuguese approaching; like any insolent child, he pushes further, wrapping his arms around Gareth’s waist in a tight hold while whispering unknown words into his ruby red ears. 

Whatever he says has the Welshman looking over his shoulder and meeting the heated gaze of Cristiano, who is practically emitting _get over here now_ sound waves. Gareth demurely makes his way over letting Cristiano wrap him up in his strong, possessive arms. This is not how he had expected this night to go. He downs another shot of… something alcoholic, drinking until his vision blurs. 

 

They all stumble out of the club at an ungodly hour and James thanks the president for providing them all with private chauffeurs. Marcelo helps him to his car and he shyly looks up to thank him for _everything_ before his words catch on his throat like a fly trapped in a jar of honey. 

The Brazilian is close enough for him to smell his cologne, all citrus and warmth, and he’s gazing down slightly off center with his eyes looking at his….. mouth and he’s tempted to do it, just put this entire night behind him, so he leans forward and they are about to kiss…until Marcelo changes directions at the last minute, fast as any striker would on the pitch, lush lips landing on his cheek instead, followed by warm words in his ears: “I don’t play for second place.” 

_Oh_. 

With those parting words he’s off and James is left alone to his thoughts. 

Training is normal, _strangely_ normal, as if the other night were merely a figment of his imagination; everyone is acting as if the majority of them had not been grinding up on each other like a whore trying to make a quick dollar. Everyone excluding Sergio and Iker, of course, who are as affectionate as usual, with the latter walking around with a prominent frown etched onto his face as the former trails behind pawing at his face and attempting to physically “turn his frown upside-down” (his exact words). 

Marcelo is as welcoming as usual, ‘sunshine’ smile in place, and he feels as if he’s saturated in warmth when they hug. It lasts a bit longer than he’s anticipating, but it’s not unwelcomed. 

He receives a quick “Buenos Dias!” from the rest of the team, and then it’s all business and training for their first match with the new additions-namely Toni and himself. Señor Ancelotti appears to be a very calm and innovative coach; despite his trepidation about the _bathroom situation_ , he finds himself relaxing and taking his sound advice about what he needs to work on. 

Honestly, he’s still a bit in awe that he’s training at _the_ Santiago Bernabèu. He quickly forgets all his qualms and loses himself in football, his _raison d’etre_ and the answer to all his questions. His escapism is very successful, aided by the fact that neither Cristiano nor Gareth is behaving any differently. 

He can’t help but wonder if Gareth told his….. lover about the incident, of his own accidental voyeurism, and if this has ruined any chance at a relationship with the man he has admired for many years. He dreads the answer to that and it remains on his mind until training is dismissed and they are all slowly walking off into the locker room.

“ _Ay, Dios Mío_ , I’m tired! I swear, he _knows_ we went out partying and he was trying to punish us!” Sergio whines loudly with an exaggerated pout on his handsome face as he looks around the room for affirmation that they are all in agreement with his statement. The answering groans that drone throughout the room are more than enough to illustrate how much the team agrees with his complaint. 

James is sitting on a bench removing his new Adidas boots when he hears Pepe's loud guffaw of laughter. He glances up, only to see him putting Cristiano in a head lock as Fabio cheers him on, and he's blown away by how utterly child-like they are in each other’s presence. He aches to go over and join them, and perhaps get his hands on that perfectly gelled hair, run his fingers through the locks and draw him in, get his lips...he probably shouldn't be having these thought while the subject of his fantasies stands _right_ in front of him. 

"James, _mi rayito de sol_ , why so serious?" Sergio's soft baritone shakes him from his thoughts and he turns to meet his gaze, only to see the slight, maniac smile on his face as he clearly impersonates the character he's quoting, forcing a laugh to escape from James’ lips. "You look crazy, how does anyone put up with you?" He counters affectionately. "I just annoy everyone until they have no choice but to love me. Ask Iker," Sergio deadpans, eying the captain and shooting him a wink when their gazes collide. 

He admires their relationship, and ponders on his own-he has Daniela and he adores her, but his attraction to men is something they've spoken about and she's more than accepting, even going as far as to ask him who he thinks is hot and suggesting threesomes (much to his embarrassment). She'd been giddy when he'd signed for Real, screaming, "They're all so hot, bring one home!" He knew she was kidding-they never invited anyone into their bed, but her acceptance was encouraging. 

He knows he doesn't deserve her. 

"There's someone who would kill to have you look at him the way you look at Cris." James whips his head around, shocked at Sergio's words and ready to deny looking at Cris in any special way. But a nostalgic, distant look begins to mar Sergio’s features, and he looks up at him, waiting for an explanation. “Before Iker, I was with someone else. It wasn't until he left that I saw what we could be. And now? I can't imagine being without him. He's a part of my soul in every way that matters. One day, I was looking at him, and I realized he was looking back; he had been looking back for a while, actually. He'd just been waiting for me to notice." 

James knows what Sergio is saying; he gets, really. 

He should leave Cristiano alone after what he's seen the previous night. He should be running into Marcelo's arms. But...last night, when he'd been dancing for Cris (he can admit that now), they'd made eye contact, and Cristiano certainly didn't seem to mind the attention he was giving him. He had been looking back before Gareth's arrival. So no, he's decided. He’s not giving up. He made it here, to Real Madrid, and that had seemed like an unbelievable dream. 

After that, anything is possible. He doesn't want to blow off Sergio's advice, but he isn't willing to ignore this connection between himself and the Portuguese, so he simply nods and wanders off to the showers. If Gareth and Cristiano are meant to be, then his attraction should bear no consequences. He misses Sergio's soft sigh and quick sympathetic gaze to a watchful Brazilian, who remains passive and shrugs his broad shoulders. 

~~~~^^^~~~~~^^^~~~~~~~^^^

Gareth and Toni are quietly whispering in the corner and their quiet camaraderie brings a smile to his face; they really are “Team Quiet”, as he and Isco have coined them. 

Arbeloa knows how difficult it is for Gareth being on a team of predominantly Spanish speakers, so Toni's addition to the club is great for the Welshman, but he kind of misses their moments before Toni and even before Cris; they'd always gotten along wonderfully, with him always making an effort to speak to the lovely boy. 

He has utilized his solace to observe the locker room, however, and suddenly realized that something was in the air, something _different_. Sergio is speaking to the cute Colombian and they appear to be having a very serious conversation, which in itself is strange for his fellow Spaniard. He also notices that Marcelo seems unusually interested in their conversation. _What's gotten into these two jokesters?_ He wonders to himself.

Last night. 

That's it; something happened last night. Something that has changed the dynamic of the locker room. He's contemplating simply asking Marcelo what he knows when, he feels the bench jostle with the movement of someone taking a seat next to him. Crisp blue eyes fill his view and suddenly Alvaro feels his heart singing. 

"I've not seen you this quiet since you watched the season finale of Game of Thrones," Gareth smirks; he can hear the tease in his voice and laughter is his immediate response. "Don't mock me. I'll make you a fan yet!" They both laugh at the faux conviction in his voice because this has been a losing battle for months now. It always takes him by surprise how much more gorgeous Gareth looks when he laughs, head thrown back and eyes crinkled in pure amusement. 

"I was thinking of showing Toni around town a bit, but I'm pretty horrid with directions and you were the one who showed me around when I first got here. Do you want to come with us?" The winger asks, looking up at him with pleading eyes. 

Pfft. As if he needs any excuse to spend time with him. "Of course! I would love to!" He answers eagerly and Gareth smiles back, temporarily blinding him, before Alvaro excuses himself and promises to meet him outside after he collects his clothes from his cubby. He makes his way outside with the rest of the group before remembering that he's left his phone charger and curses himself before turning back to retrieve it. 

He calls over to Toni to let him know he'll be right back. The locker room is seemingly empty when he enters, and he moves to get his charger, when he hears voices. _I thought everyone had left already_ , he wonders. 

He'd seen Cris and Gareth hug, practically behaving as if they were going off to war before Pepe and Fabio dragged the Portuguese away, despite his attempts to cling to the Welshman. Iker and Sese left together as usual, with a bright eyed Isco trailing behind them (Alvaro is really wondering what exactly was going on with that little threesome), while everyone else scattered out in batches, excited to have the rest of the day off. 

As he makes his way to the muffled voices, he catches a flash of familiar brown mane and his mind supplies the identity of its owner: _Gareth. But who is he speaking to? Everyone is gone_. His question is answered by stuttered English with a thick Colombian accent. 

Neither of them has noticed him and he's about to make his presence known, when the conversation takes a turn and James raises his voice. "I don't owe you anything. You are my teammate and I respect you, but he doesn't seem to mind. The fact that you are talking to me proves that you see our connection, too. Your little show last night has not done anything to deter me.” Alvaro has to catch the gasp that wants to escape, drawing it back in before he can unintentionally reveal his presence. 

"I'm talking to you because I want you to know that I know what you want, and you can't have it. You can't have _him_. I shouldn't have rubbed it in your face, but this is me officially telling you to back off." 

He's never heard such assertive steel in Gareth's voice before-he's oddly proud, but mostly curious about this mysterious show they both keep mentioning. What _exactly_ happened last night? 

He rushes out of the locker when he hears footsteps approaching him and forces himself to look calm when Gareth joins him a few moments later. A forced smile is in place on the Welshman’s face as he greets him. Together, they walk over to join Toni, who is busy texting away on his phone, cooing at pictures of his adorable son. They load into the car, and take off into the busy Madrid streets. 

Alvaro tries to ignore the feeling bubbling up in his chest, but it consumes him, this newfound _excitement_. He’s always assumed that he could merely be friends with the Welshman and that his attraction would fade into the background, but that has not happened, not in the slightest. However, this new development could be what he needs to have a real chance with Gareth. 

He would never try to break up his two teammates, but James seems to have no such qualms, and he's seen the way Cris looks at the Colombian. It's not love, or even lust, truly, but there is a definite interest. Interest that was previously reserved for a young winger. 

_If Cristiano’s eyes are straying to new pastures then maybe it's my time to show Gareth that my eyes are firmly on him_. "What's got you so happy?" Toni wonders aloud, staring at him with questioning blue eyes, a completely different shade from the glacial orbs that haunt his dreams. 

"Nothing. I just realized that sometimes, you can get _exactly_ what you want if you're patient,” he grins wickedly. Toni doesn't seem any less confused, but he shrugs and turns back to his phone, mumbling about how weird Spaniards are. Alvaro looks out the window; suddenly, the sun seems brighter, as bright as the hope blossoming like a flower in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while and I'm sorry for that dears, blame life; honestly if I could I would just write about these boys all day. But alas I cannot, now don't start hating anyone I love all the boys despite how stupid and impulsive they can get. The next chapter will be......a bit of a detour and then we're back on the road and things heat up but remember all is fair in love and war!! 
> 
> Also the other chapter will be coming fairly soon as it's a little interlude because I didn't keep a promise I made in another chapter and I'm looking to fix that ;)


	12. Desamor

Something’s going on with Gareth but he can’t place his thumb on what exactly it is, he knows that his boy is jealous of James’ puppy dog love and how brightly his eyes shine when he’s in the vicinity but he’s not prepared for the arctic blast that saturates the air when they are in the same room. 

He’d been teasing in the club wanting the Welsh wizard to get a taste of his own medicine, still not fully over the Arbeloa incident but he never expected Gareth to respond in such an….. explosive manner; his toes curling in memory of that wide pink mouth swallowing him whole. 

_God_. 

They hadn’t discussed anything after honestly, talking was the _last_ thing on his mind, after his lover had practically sucked his brain out through his smaller head. He’d been ready to plow Gareth into a writhing mess right there on the questionable bathroom floor but they had already been gone for too long and he knew that everyone knew exactly what they were doing in the bathroom, he didn’t think Gareth would appreciate them teasing his bowlegged walk. 

He wasn’t bragging if they’d done it there he would make sure Gareth felt it for _weeks_. 

But now he can see clearly now and it’s evident that James and the Welsh winger are not fans of each other and he’s beyond confused because certainly Gareth can’t see the young Colombian as true competition can he? They don’t even occupy the same place on the field and Gareth simply isn’t that petty, so what is causing this rift between them? He can’t come up with a plausible conclusion and when he poses his question to Karim in passing, the French striker looks at him as if he’s asked who is the best team in the world and didn’t name Real Madrid as an option. 

Frankly, he looks at him as if he’s asked the stupidest question imaginable and rounds it out with, “You really need to start drinking that will at least give you an excuse for how clueless you are sometimes” before pulling on one of this many fitted caps and strolling out of the locker room, head bobbing as he brags about having _baking soda_ of all things. 

_He really shouldn’t be allowed around Raphael, that boy has such a bright future_ , he thinks genuinely worried about the young defender but begrudgingly understanding the bond between the players with shared nationalities. 

He tries to put the entire situation behind him because he has no evidence to back up his intuition and it’s not unheard of for players to simply not like each other as long as it doesn’t affect them on the pitch and to his knowledge this has not been an issue, Señor Ancelotti wouldn’t allow it nonetheless. 

He’s currently lounging on his soft leather couch regretting sending Junior off to his mama’s house but denying the boy was near impossible and he’d hope to convince Gareth to come over and re-christen the bedroom, they hadn’t christened anything in too long. 

3 weeks and 2 days to be exact. 

Unfortunately he’d been informed that Gareth had visitors, his Welsh team mate Aaron Ramsey had sporadically flown over to surprise the world’s most expensive footballer and brought along his Arsenal’s teammate, the French pretty boy Olivier Giroud. So now he was bored, lonely and horny with nothing to entertain him. 

He’s seriously contemplating going back to bed when he hears the familiar tone of his iPhone has it vibrates on the glass coffee table and he jumps with how quickly he moves to retrieve it, grateful for the distraction it poses. “Hello” he greets without even checking the caller I.D. only to pull the phone away from his face in confusion hears a shout and what sounds like shuffling on the ground, “Ollie give him back his phone you’re really not making a good impression” says an exasperated voice that’s tinged with apparent affection despite the reprimand and then he finally gets a response, “Bonjour! Non, um....hola! Cristiano how are you?” inquiries a smooth French accented voice. 

He doesn’t get the opportunity to respond to the question before he hears a voice he’s been hearing in his dreams for days now, “Cris I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bother you on your day off. Olivier has no boundaries and he wouldn’t take no for an answer” his boy apologizes needlessly and he lets him know immediately, “Gaz you have nothing to apologize for I always want to hear from you” he answers plainly aware that his words have most likely incited Gareth’s infamous blush. 

“Look Rambo he’s turned the color of a ripe tomato, this is so precious pass me your phone quick, _si charmant_!” calls out the excited French voice and he can hear Gareth groan and his head traitorously starts imagining all the more pleasurable ways he could be making his boy groan and he’s lost to his devious thoughts when he realizes that he can hear much clearer now, no more background noise. 

“Gaz, are you still there?” “…..Yeah I’m here I’m just trying not to die from shame” he replies voice soaked in the embarrassment and barely concealed contempt and he can’t help but chuckle sometimes Gareth is so dramatic, after all they’ve been through nothing should embarrass his ever-blushing boyfriend. 

He tells him as much only to hear a grumble of “Not everyone has your self-esteem, sometimes we mortals get embarrassed” and he chooses to ignore that because now that he has his boy on the line the last thing he wants to do is have a disagreement. 

“Baby, is there a reason you called? Or did you just miss my voice?” he answers instead and the silence is heavy for a few moments and he’s wondering if the pet name was too much, they haven’t discussed pet names or anything of the sort-“I didn’t call you that was Olivier. Aaron wanted to go out to eat, this is his first time in Madrid. Olivier wanted to invite you but I figured you had more important things to do on your day off.” 

“No I’m not _doing_ anything more important….I could have been but you told me you were busy” he coos voice dripping in the sticky sweetness of his saccharine innuendo and he doesn’t have to wait long for Gareth to understand his words, his gasps and indignant puff of his name more than enough to illustrate how embarrassed he’s making the shy Welshman. “ _Stop it_ , I have guests. Do you want to?...I mean get dinner with us?” Gareth asks and Cristiano wonders when his lover when realize that if the question is being around him the answer will always, always be a loud resounding _yes_! 

Also he resists the urge to tell Gareth he’d love to have him for dinner, it’s a tough battle but he stays resolute already embarrassing his boy enough, well for now. They agree to get dinner at Fox restaurant because they’ve been there as a team before, the food is delicious and the service is extremely discrete allowing them to fully enjoy themselves. 

He drags himself off the soft warmed leather and makes his way to his bathroom, undressing as he goes uncaring of where his clothes land. Definite pep in his step. 

 

He takes care to make himself look as good as possible, taking time out to shave the minor stumble he has collected on the square line of his jaw. Lightly slapping on some after shave before winking at his reflection, the last time he'd done that with an audience Fabio and Pepe had mocked him for months; chanting that he was the perfect _maquina_ and really who was he to argue, he worked hard to look this good! 

Ego sufficiently stroked at his own hands he wonders over to his closet, already certain of what he plans to wear pulling out fitted black dress pants and a crisp white button down shirt and a vest to tie the ensemble all together. He contemplates donning a tie but decides against, he's merely having dinner with his boyfriend and his friends there's no reason for such formalities. 

He preens at himself in a full length mirror humming in approval and the countenance that peers back at him, _damn_ he looks good! 

He palms his iPhone, wallet and keys before making his way to the door setting his alarm before he strolls out of the door and makes his way to the garage to get his car. Ultimately the plan was for them to meet up at the restaurant but once he settles in the car he decides he wants to pick Gareth up, properly like a date.

_We've never been on a date_ he thinks to himself, _we really did do everything backwards but I'll work hard to rectify that and I'll start by collecting him_. Hand instinctively shifting to the smooth cool weight of the gear shift he pushes into drive and guns out of the garage, eager to see his boy despite just seeing him the following day in training. 

As he's blazing down the gorgeous streets of Madrid he realizes he simply cannot arrive empty handed; that would be ghastly rude and he wants to make a good impression of Aaron. He and Gareth have been friends for some time and this is the first friend he's met, whom is not a member of their team or a mutual friend they share he's wading into uncharted waters but just like every other situations he's faces, he plans to float. There is a flower shop that catches his eyes and he pulls over, skin buzzing and tingling in anticipation of seeing Gareth. 

He can already taste those sweet, sweet lips. 

 

~~~~~~^^^^~~~~~~~^^^^~~^^^^^~~~~~~~~~

"Why are you so shy? I'm sure he's seen more skin than this mon ami, he is yours no?" Olivier argues genuinely trying to convince a resistant Welshman that he should wear an almost translucent blue shirt that leaves very little to the imagination. 

He does not understand why Gareth is so self-conscious he is a beautiful man with an equally beautiful body and he informs him of such much to the amusement of Aaron, who is snickering into his hands laughter increasing when Gareth sputters out sounds of shock and embarrassment. "You must flaunt it because you've got it!" He chants encouragingly hoping that will draw the boy out of his shell but the needless blushing continues. 

He finally gives up after trying to get Gareth to wear an ascot, they are quite wonderful for emphasizing ones neck but clearly the English lack his superior sense of style so he leaves Gareth and Aaron to their own boring devices, choosing to go have another glass of wine. 

He's sipping his Chardonnay when he hears the rumble of a car approaching and he jumps us out of his seat excited to meet Cristiano Ronaldo, who many know to be the Portuguese version of him. Using his long legs he eats up the distance between the kitchen and the front door and yanks it open, seeing the man exit his car; a Bugatti Veyron, very nice he's heard there are only a few sold in the world, he's not at all surprised this man owns one of the few. 

Before the doors slide open like the golden gates of heaven and out steps the Portuguese man, immaculately dressed expensive shades on despite the gradual descent of the sun. He immediately approves this man is everything Gareth is not and he knows a thing or two about relationships based on opposites, Aaron hardly ever moisturizes his skin at night despite his insistence that he should. Though his skin does seem to remain rather pliant under his seeking fingers regardless, but that's another thought for another day. 

He's never met the Madrid superstar but looking at him he sees someone so like himself that he finds no qualms descending the steps and pulling the man into a hug, "Cristiano mon ami how are you? It's very nice to be meeting you!" He eagerly exclaims and he worries he's overstepped his boundaries because of the answering silence until, "Olivier, right? It's very nice to meet you as well." Cristiano finally responds reciprocating his hug before drawing back to remove his sunglasses, smile on his tanned face. 

He can practically _feel_ the hear from his smile. _I can definitely see why he's viewed as the Portuguese version of me_ he absentmindedly thinks, turning and walking with the man up the stairs that lead to Gareth's front door. 

~~~~~^^^~~~~~~^^^^~~~~~~~^^^^^ 

"Don't let Ollie get to you, it's a casual dinner right? Cristiano has seen you sweaty on the pitch I don't think he's expecting you to be dolled up tonight, it doesn't matter Gareth" he tries to soothe his frazzled friend, who is currently dispensing his revered pace to dart back and forth across his bedroom, flinging clothes on the floors while groaning clearly dissatisfied with everything be owns. 

He's never seen Gareth like this, so genuinely nervous. It brings a small smile to his face that means Cristiano truly means something to his quiet national team mate. He'd been one of the first to tease Gareth immediately about his glaringly obvious crush on the Portuguese man but he could never have foreseen this outcome, Gareth wasn't one to take risks; on the pitch maybe but never in his personal life. 

Then one night they'd been Skyping and they were wont to do when they had a free moment and he'd been teasing Gareth with pictures of their new teammate, Alexis Sanchez. Everyone could see that the man was sex personified and stripped down to its basest, dirtiest form. 

Gareth had blushed as expected eyes flitting across the screen and then he'd left Aaron utterly speechless, "He's quite fit but I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate you sending me pictures of other shirtless men" voice laced with subtle elation and as if that were not enough, he’d tilted the laptop down and it had taken a second for Aaron's eyes to adjust fully to the darkness before the shocking image was revealed: a sleeping Cristiano Ronaldo. 

He'd listen to the intricate weaving of their relationship and the hardships they'd faced already and simply thought, _what the hell_? and his face must have expressed his disbelief because Gareth chuckled before shrugging and he’d merely said “He’s worth it. I would go through it all again, if I got to keep him” voice filled with some much pure emotion, something he’d only heard when Gareth was speaking about football or little Alba. 

So he understands that his fellow Welshman is anxious, his anticipatory nerves practically saturate the air and he remembers his first date with his own pretty boy. 

He probably would have been just as nervous if Olivier hadn’t invited himself over, surprising him on his door steps with a handful of chocolate strawberries and a smile that screamed “I wanna eat them off you” but he’d stayed strong in the face of temptation, taken the strawberries and deposited them in the kitchen before pushing Olivier out the front door so he could continue getting ready. 

French men, _sacrébleu_. 

Gareth’s groan drags him from his thoughts and he gazes up to find his friend attempting to torture his way into the tightest pair of jeans he’s ever seen and he can’t stop himself before exclaiming, “He knows you’re a guy right? There’s really no reason for you to be trying to cut off your balls, eh?” Only to find himself on the wrong side of an icy blue glare, he feels nothing resembling regret and allows his face to express that sentiment.

“You’re not helping me!” Gareth whines exasperation clear in his voice and he feels an iota of sympathy but mostly he’s amused by this entire ordeal and he wishes Ollie were here to enjoy it with him. _Hmmm where is my French man? Thought he would be back by now_. 

Olivier is in some sense very similar to a small child insomuch as if you can’t hear him he’s almost certainly up to no good and that gets him moving quickly, Alexis would be proud.

"Gareth, honestly I’m about as fashion challenged as you are so asking my advice is like the blind leading the blind. Just put on some clothes, maybe some CR7 stuff he seems like a guy who would appreciate that. I’ve noticed that Ollie is being far too quiet and that can only mean one thing: trouble” he explains as he stands and avoids the panicked blue orbs that trail his movement towards the door, “You finish getting dressed and Ollie and I will be downstairs I know you wear a tiara now because playing for Madrid has clearly made you a diva but that doesn’t mean you’re _actually_ a woman, stop worrying about your clothes please.” 

He counts it as a victory when a boot flies past his face, close enough for him to feel it graze his cheek. 

Gareth has impeccable aim if he intended to hit him then it would have stroke its mark. Ask the countless goalies who have faced him one-on-one. 

Color him surprised when he walks down the stairs to find Olivier……. shirtless and _oh, Cristiano has arrived_. They are both shirtless flexing in Gareth’s living room as if this is an acceptable thing for two grown men to be partaking in, he clears his throat to get both of their attention. 

“I truly do _not_ want to know what is going on, just stop it. Both of you redress before Gareth and I go for dinner alone and you both stay behind.” He reprimands in his “Wenger” voice as Ollie has coined it pointedly ignoring Ollie’s grumbled, “He said his abs were better than mine!” He’s dating a man-child he swears! 

He’s seconds away from boxing the deranged Frenchman in his huge inflated head when he remembers Cristiano is here, this is the first time he’s met the new man in his little Gareth’s life and he does _not_ him thinking that he’s as crazy as his boyfriend. He turns to formally introduce himself to the most well-known man in modern day football only to be greeted by his tanned, toned, and _half naked body_. 

His eyes flint all over his body without his explicit permission because he is dating one of his best friends and his boyfriend is in the same room, but honestly _damn, he’s even hotter in real life_. 

He tears his gaze away from that-what is that an eight pack?!- to recollect himself seeing as it’s generally frowned upon to eye-fuck someone while one’s boyfriend currently resides in the same location, or you know at all. Once he regains his composure he plasters a smile on his face hoping his moment of indiscretion was not too noticeable but judging by the smug upturn of the Portuguese’s lip and the death glare Olivier is sending his way, his moment of weakness was obvious for everyone involved. 

_I knew Olivier was up to no good now the scoundrel has dragged me down with him_ , he angrily thinks to himself before continuing on his mission to introduce himself to this man. “Nice to meet you Cristiano I’m Aaron Ramsey,-“My boyfriend and one true love!” Olivier unnecessarily pips in moving with speed he only unleashes on the pitch to rush to his side and wrap his long arms around Aaron’s waist possessively much to the evident amusement of one, Cristiano Ronaldo who is purposely closing his shirt too slowly to be accidental. 

“ _Calmate_ I don’t want your Welshman I already have one of my own and I don’t plan on replacing him anytime soon……regardless of how cute this one is” he exclaims with a voiced laced with teasing mischief that Aaron receives enough from Olivier and he’s 1000% over this predicament and the pissing contest these two have going on. 

He wonders what horrible thing he and Gareth have done in their past life to deserve such a faith, this seems like a cruel punishment for any possible crime. 

As the two pro athletes stand there like cowboys in a western movie his pops would love he gets bored and easily devises a plan, _I can barely handle Ollie on a good day I don’t have the patience to deal with the Portuguese Ollie_. “Olivier you made Gareth quite self-conscious the poor lad’s upstairs right now stripped down to boxers agonizing over what he should wear!” 

Much like clockwork the intentional mention of a minimally clothed Gareth piques Cristiano’s interest and it looks as if he plans on simply charging from the room to see this vision with his own two eyes. “Do you think I should go check on the poor thing? Provide him with some words of encouragement I just wanted him to show a bit more skin, he’s far too gorgeous to be so continually covered!” Olivier responds predictably as well and he has to promptly prevent himself from smirking lest they decipher his plans but before he can discard the suggestion Cristiano growls out, “Don’t worry about how much skin _my_ Gareth reveals it’s of no importance to you Oliver. I will go help him you can stay here and worry about what is yours.” 

He has to stop the bubbling laughter that threatens to burst out because really, _Oliver_ , it’s evident Cristiano is trying to push Olivier’s buttons and he’s never witnessed anyone try this before. 

Most people are too busy falling under the Frenchman’s effortless seduction. 

But to his utmost surprise Olivier simply laughs, a loud booming laugh that fills the room with its unexpected presence and then he shocks Aaron even more by moving over to throw a long arm over the Portuguese man’s shoulder, “Come now _amigo_ I mean no harm you and I are very similar. We are men of passion, we protect what is ours but you have no adversary in me I admire beauty in anyone but my loyalty lies steadfast with another.” 

Just like that the tension is broken like a whip has crackled straight through the room, Cristiano’s face easing into a smile that is echoed by his boyfriend and they both start to chuckle at their ridiculous stand off just seconds ago. 

_This, this is why I can’t stay mad at him_ he fondly thinks and now he just wants to get Olivier alone reward him for those stupidly sweet words so he interrupts them as they’re exchanging hair regimens-could they be any more cliché?- “Poor Gareth probably so anxious and confused alone in his room, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not just naked up there sitting with his face in his hands now” easily blending fake worry and overwhelming concern in his voice making sure his face perfectly matches as well. 

The mention of a bare Gareth has Cristiano’s head popping up like a dog that’s just smelt his next meal and Olivier smirks knowingly in his directions, mouthing _cheeky boy_ before the Real Madrid forward stalks up the stairs without a single word to either of them. 

He doesn’t allow his amusement to show until the Portuguese is safely upstairs and Olivier slithers over to muse his hair, “You are such a naughty boy how are we supposed to have dinner if our hosts are too easy making a meal of each other?” “We’ll get there eventual and in the mean time I wouldn’t mind a little French cuisine myself” he cheekily responds watching Olivier’s sharp blue eyes widen before drags him down into a hard devouring kiss, _French_ of course. 

 

~~~~~^^^^^~~~~~~~~^^^^~~~~~~~^^^^^^ 

He sits frustrated on the floor back turned as he buttons up a shirt identical to all the others he's discarded carelessly. 

Feeling anxious about leaving Cris with Olivier and his brand of French flirtation, he's scared they will recognize how similar they are and simply blend into one discussing hair routines and other methods of body perfecting. He’d immediately recognized the revving engine of Cristiano’s million dollar car and was a bit taken aback, weren’t they all meant to meet at the restaurant? 

His sudden appearance has given him much less time to prepare himself for this night, both physically and emotionally and he ineffectively tries to calm his frazzled nerves but he can’t stop thinking about scene in the locker room with James. 

Flashbacks infiltrating his mind without his consent. 

He hadn’t wanted to confront the newest Madrid acquisition had merely been slow getting ready and then admittedly distracted by Cristiano who’d clung to him like a human koala despite the jostling of his best friend. 

He’d been rushing to leave when he’d come upon the young Colombian, who looked equally surprised to see him and the words left his mouth before his brain could annex them, “Stay away from Cristiano” he hadn’t meant them; not in the literal sense. He couldn’t dictate who Cristiano spent time with, he had been much more open to Gareth spending time with Arbeloa despite his evident feelings so he knew he had to return that same courtesy, yet he still told the Colombian to stay clear of his Portuguese. 

He was a _damned_ hypocrite he knew! 

But he couldn’t help himself he knew he would never cheat on Cris with Alváro or anyone else, but what about Cristiano? Would he be able to stay faithful, was he worth staying faithful to? These are the questions that plague his mind at nights and days and he _needs_ this night to go perfectly he can’t give Cristiano a reason to turn to James with his boyish good looks and effortless smile, they would look gorgeous together much better paired than the Portuguese and him. 

He feels much like that young boy he was once who stayed in when all the other boys were out bonding in the way boys do, through physical activities and competitions and while they were all cementing relationships he was inside looking through his window desperately earning to be a part of a group, yearning for someone to tell him he was welcomed but too scared to take that step himself. 

“What’s wrong with me?” “From where I’m standing not a damn thing” a voice he knows all too well answers making him jump in surprise before turning to find those dark chocolate eyes raking up and down his barely clothed body and he knows it absurd to feel self-conscious after all they've done; yet he cannot help it and he draws the half opened shirt tightly around his bared chest offering a minimal illusion of coverage. 

Cristiano doesn't move a single muscle standing statuesque in the doorway, gazing at him with......hungry eyes and his thoughts have left him feeling quite raw and open, so much so he finds himself up and rushing into the warms arms of a shocked Portuguese clinging to him the way a scared child might. 

He doesn’t know how long they stand there like reunited lovers but the mere scent of Cristiano does wonders for his nerves and he can hear that soft soothing grumble of his voice, “Shhhh Gaz _meu amor, eu estou aqui_ I’m here stop shaking.” 

Oh. 

Is he shaking? He didn’t even realize too occupied by the buzzing of his heart to notice the buzzing of his skin and he resolutely just _stops_ before pulling away only to be stopped in his tracks by the liquid pools of Cristiano’s expressive eyes, that both soothe and question him and he doesn’t have any answers; nothing he wants to say aloud too scared to mention James because that would make this all too _real_. 

“I’m okay, I’m fine just got some bad news nothing for you to worry about” he painfully lies feeling sick to his stomach as he does it but unable to stop himself, his guilt is furthered by the worry that mar that chiseled face before he’s engulfed in another encompassing embrace. He instinctively wraps his arms about the corded neck of his Portuguese while powerful arms fit tightly around his bare hips drawing him in closer, warming his skin as well as his heart. 

He can’t help himself so emerged in all this love he’s drenched in acting on further instinct and his lips navigate their way to Cristiano’s supple mouth, nipping at his bottom then soothing that bite with a swipe of his tongue shuttering at the groan he receives for his efforts. 

Their tongues swirl in an uncoordinated dance that quickly has him forgetting all of his previous thoughts, nothing but Cristiano on his tongue and now on his mind permeating through his body like the blood filtering through his veins. He draws back to get some much needed air in his lungs not that this deters Cristiano, who is a man on a mission grabbing handfuls of his barely covered ass and sucking down the side of his neck. 

He simply _melts_ into those strong arms. 

No negative thoughts fogging up his mind, just those lips on his neck, those hands on his hips, that skin on his skin, just _heaven_. 

His world tilts until he’s flat on his back Cristiano looming above him peering down at him, eyes boring into his very soul searching through the crevices of his mind and finding all his dirty secrets. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what Gaz. You’re stuck with me” Cristiano finally whispers reverently as if knowing all the insecurities that wage war in his mind and facing them head on as he does in all situations, the General as they call him. 

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. You never say sweet things to me” he teases needing to infuse humor in this heart throbbing moment to keep himself from melting into a puddle of goo under the criminal sweet talker who smirks before replying, “Now, now that’s just not true. Remember last weekend when you woke me up with a delightful surprise and I told you that was the best blow--“ he slams his hand over Cristiano’s mouth knowing that he must be blushing down to his roots he can feel the heat surging through his body.

"It would have been your last if you finish that sentence” he warns narrowing his eyes threateningly causing Cristiano to chuckle before pecking his lips, the smooch loud in the quiet room and then they draw back eyes connected, pumps of damp breathe mingling between the space of their bodies. 

“Hi” “Hello, gorgeous” as is the norm for them they work backwards finally saying formal greetings and he recalls that they have guests waiting for them _right downstairs_ and this realization gets him moving as fast as, well himself really. 

He slips from under a protesting Portuguese ignoring his grumbles of dissatisfaction “They’re fine when I left they were practically making love to each other, we can’t let them beat us!” instead he rushes back to his wardrobe to grab the first thing he finds- a dark blue button down shirt that stretches tightly across the expanse of his chest and blue jeans- until he feels that warm presence behind his back and then hands on top of his hands stilling his movement. 

“We are going to go to this dinner only because I can’t think of a plausible way to get rid of Frenchie and Aaron but after that you are mine, _all mine_. It doesn’t matter what you wear because in a few hours it will be on the floor next to my clothes. I told you in that bathroom I was gonna _wreck_ you and I never go back on my promises” 

_Damn_. 

When Cris speaks like that all he wants to do is throw himself on the nearest flat surface and let him take whatever he wants, but he can’t, it’s too risky. 

He’s _scared_. 

Scared of how vulnerable is feels after Cristiano breaks down all his defenses when he’s too full to be vulnerable or worried about anything except how much deeper Cristiano can go, when he wants them to be so intertwined that it’s hard to see where one ends and one begins. When he might break apart and forget this façade and tell Cris everything. 

So he will resist because pushing Cris away is easier than losing him altogether. 

“You don’t need to say anything just know tonight I’m reclaiming this” he squeaks in surprise at the strong squeeze of his ass to emphasize what exactly Cris will be reclaiming tonight, _how am I gonna survive this?_ He panics dreading the end of the night like the last few minutes of a dead lock match on the pitch. 

The sound of the door clicking shut is not nearly enough to counter the deafening _boom boom boom_ of his racing heart. 

 

~~~~~^^^^^~~~~~^^^^^~~~~~~~^^^^^

Dinner is a lovely and quiet affair, he’s sat next to Gareth with Cristiano and Olivier across from them chatting away about whatever it is that pretty boys like those discuss; he’s guessing how many people they can get to swoon with their dazzling smiles. 

He’s more focused on the pervading silence coming from a certain Welshman he answers when spoken to but otherwise he appears to be emulating a mannequin of sorts, false smile plastered on his blanched face and he’s not the only one who notices based on the barely-there glances Cristiano keels giving him as well. 

Following the spectacle back at the house he doesn’t know what’s occurred to warrant this silent treatment from Gareth, the Portuguese star had all but swaggered down to the living room looking as satisfied as a striker who’d scored a hat trick and Gareth’s flustered arrival only further cemented the sly look that he exchanged with Olivier, both thinking oh they’ve _definitely_ had their desserts. 

But truthfully they had no room to judge, they'd gotten up to their own trouble after being left unattended downstairs, Olivier could be _very very_ convincing when he put his mind to it and Aaron was admittedly weak to his charm. They'd all left the house in good spirits, ready to enjoy their night. 

They'd been immediately led to a private table upon arrival, he'd noticed that the restaurant had been cleared out not another party in sight and it was clear that this was Cristiano's doing as he nodded in approval at the maître'd who greeted him as an old friend. 

Naturally the conversation had turned to football with it playing such a huge factor in all their lives, Olivier had started the questionnaire with inquiries of the Bernabèu and it's visual grandiose, asking if it was as marvelous as it appeared and both galacticos had nothing but the highest praise for their worldwide stadium. Gareth spoke about it with such awe in his voice that it was clear that he still couldn't believe it was _his_ , it was where he now called home. 

He would never stop being a fan, Aaron truly loved that about him. 

Remembering that he and Gareth had national duties approaching he led his friend into a conversation hoping to discuss their prospects desperately hoping they could lead their country to victory, this time. It would be the highest honor. "---He was spectacular in the World Cup! You must tell me if he lives up to the all the acclaim he has received!" he'd heard the excited voice of his Frenchman and then the quick response from Cristiano, "He's brilliant. Truly a gem, young and eager to learn. A great addition to the squad" he spoke with pride in his voice and a blinding smile on his face.

It was at that moment that Gareth shut down. 

Completely, _shut down_. 

He'd done everything to regain his attention, even asking about little Alba but all he'd received for his efforts were a mumbled, "She's fine" and he was at an utter loss, what exactly was going on with his friend? Who were Cristiano and Olivier speaking about? 

That had been several minutes ago and the dinner had progressed with Olivier single-handedly leading the conversation asking Cristiano everything imaginable, from what his favorite food was-his mama's paella- to what he would be if he wasn't a footballer; he'd been unable to answer that simply not able to imagine a world in which he wasn't _the_ Cristiano Ronaldo. 

Throughout it all Gareth remained near catatonic and an increasingly frustrated Cristiano who seems to be getting tired of having his gazes unheeded so he does what any good friend would do in such a situation. He forces Gareth to face whatever it is he’s hiding from because he’s learned with the reflective winger actions are much more demonstrative than words. 

He patiently waits until the end of dinner before pulling out his phone and gasping loudly, “Oh. Olivier we have to go back to your hotel right now, there was an incident and they think someone might have broken into our room” “What? How could that happen? I brought along some expensive silk ascots any thief would love to get his hands on those!” he almost laughs at the outrage clear in the Frenchman’s voice, really who would break into a room to steal neckwear? 

But he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth because his idiot easily believes his hastily fabricated tale and that’s all that matters. 

Cristiano steps forward to shake his hand following a quick handshake to Olivier and finally he steps into Gareth’s space drawing his friend close and whispering for his ears only, “Talk to him you prat” he doesn’t get a chance to see the surprise on Gareth’s face because Olivier frantically drags him away distraught about his possibly stolen ascots, Frenchmen _sacrebleu_. 

 

~~~~^^^^^~~~~~~~~^^^^~~~~~~~^^^^^^

“When we get home you’re going to tell me what’s wrong” he demands with nothing but iron clad certainty in his voice, this night was supposed to be carefree and easy a night for new acquaintances and it had been great, free and easy until Gareth had stopped talking unexpectedly, just sat there as if he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. 

That had hurt because Cristiano always wanted to be around his boy, _always_. 

Even if they were just cuddling on the couch watching vintage Real Madrid matches both in awe of the magic that is Ronaldo and Zizou cheering as if they don’t already know the outcomes. Every moment spent together is one he cherishes, tonight was intended to be just another moment made even more special by meeting a close friend of Gareth’s but instead he felt unwanted as if Gareth regretted him being there; he’s not used to feeling that way especially from _his_ boy but clearly there was a first time for everything. 

They drive in silence and Gareth rushes from the car before he can even remove the keys from the ignition and he feels the anger he has tried so desperately to restrain boiling over, about to blow and drench everything in its path he’s oddly reminded of the volcano Vesuvius, he thinks it’s called. 

He calmly exits his car carefully closing the doors behind him before following Gareth into his house, expecting to find the young Welshman waiting for him so they can discuss what precisely has gone on tonight; why he received more attention from the flirty Frenchman than his own damn _boyfriend_. Instead he finds an empty living room so he shrugs off his vest and stalks up the stairs to find his wayward lover, pushing open the closed bedroom door to find…… his boy looking smaller than a man of his stature ever should. 

His boy is folded into itself and he’s instantly reminded of the vulnerability he saw on Gareth’s face earlier today. 

_Lord, I’m a terrible boyfriend he was so hurt earlier and I completely brushed it aside because I couldn’t control my hormones_ , he curses himself before flying to Gareth’s side and bundling him up much like he would Junior after he’s had a nightmare. 

He rocks him back and forth neither saying anything just _being_ , until their breathing flow in sync and he hears a soft voice “I don’t want to talk about it. You didn’t do anything it’s me, it’s always _me_ there’s something wrong with me an—“ “ _Shut up_ there’s nothing, _nothing_ wrong with you. Gareth look at me--” he gently lifts Gareth’s chin and the spark is purely electric when their eyes meet, “I,…I love you, I love you so much do you know that? Don’t ever question that and if something is hurting you I want to know about it because it’s hurting me too” he confesses feeling fragile but willing to put himself on the line for Gareth, anything for his boy. 

He feels the bed shift and then he has a solid weight on his lap and Gareth’s clear electric blue eyes peer back at him until he realizes they’re getting closer, so close he almost feels as if he’s lost at sea for once unable to find anything to hold on to, sinking hard. 

Gareth’s hands enclose his face keeping him firmly in place though he makes no attempts to move too mesmerized by the soft inquisitive gaze and then he feels the soft press of lips, so soft and plush and the suddenness of the kiss halts his thoughts in their tracks. All he can do is kiss back, tongues lightly swirling and finding comfort in warm moist caverns. 

Tightening his hold on the Welshman he leans back never breaking the kiss knowing this won’t solve anything but he’s only human and Gareth will always be his weakness and he has missed this, _desperately_ in a way that aches. 

He allows Gareth to control the pace for as long as he can enjoying the slow wet kisses and languid rolls of their hips, but the whimpers that escape from Gareth are too tempting so he can’t be blamed when he flips them over and grinds his burgeoning hard-on into that pliant body. 

_Wow_. 

Gareth is a vision spread behind him mouth agape and blissfully red from their kisses, a light blush tinting his skin, “Gorgeous” “No—“ he captures Gareth’s dismissal before the words can even leave his mouth. 

He knows exactly what he needs to do now. 

All this time he’s been telling Gareth how much he loves him but the words haven’t been penetrating, but he’s always been a man of action why should this be any different? He interlocks their fingers placing Gareth’s arms above his head “Stay” he instructs before trailing his unoccupied hands down the front of that taut, but pliable body unbuttoning the shirt as he goes until a vast expanse of porcelain skin is revealed. 

Dipping his head he mouths at the soft pink nipples that call to him like sirens at sea latching on and sucking to the sweet, sweet music of Gareth’s moans “Cris, ahhhh don’t stop” and stopping is the absolute _last_ thing on his mind at the moment. 

Sucking harder until Gareth is a squirming mess on the bed and he feels a gentle tugging on his hair and he immediately pulls off and he peers up with narrowed eyes, “I told you to _stay_ don’t make me tie you down Gaz” his words are meant to reprimand and mildly intimidate but the glint in Gareth’s eyes is instantaneous and the hitch of his breath tells him all he needs to know, _he wants me to tie it down_. 

Fuck. 

Gareth’s eyes are so dilated at this point, pupil dark but he searches them anyway to make certain that he’s reading this right and not misunderstanding the signals. 

His boy looks desperate and horny, but not confused. 

Then he shatters all Cristiano’s brain signals, “I want you to do whatever you want. Make me stop thinking, fuck all these thoughts right out of my head. Please” he pleads offering Cris everything he’s never thought he could have but everything he would happily take if offered. 

As quick as lightning he tugs Gareth’s shirt off his shoulder and up his long arms until he reaches his hands and he lays two gentle kisses on each hand before tying the sleeves of the shirt into a tight knot securing Gareth’s arms above his head leaving him immobile and helpless. 

He can’t resist the satisfaction that runs through his blood at this vision of Gareth, who trusts him so implicitly enough to let him tie him down and _own_ him. His brain surges with a litany of _mine mine mine_ as fondles the hard cock that is undulating on his thigh opening the zipper and sliding his hand inside to feel that silken steel stroking up and down with a teasingly slow pace that can’t be offering any true pleasure to his boy.

"Please, ugh harder, faster” “No, just like this you’re only going to come when I let you come and we’ve just started baby” he’s never spoken to a lover like this much less Gareth but there’s something about the boy’s natural… sweetness that has always brought out his desire to conquer and dominate. 

_I need to feel his skin_ , that thought has him pulling off Gareth’s jeans tossing them carelessly over his shoulder only to be stopped in his tracks. “Do you like having my name branded on your skin?” he hungrily gazes at the tight spandex that stretches across Gareth’s narrow hips his own namesake staring back at him, _CR7_ hugging every curve and doing nothing to douse the fire that Gareth’s submission has lit in him. 

Gareth’s breath comes out in quick bursts before he can capture enough air to stutter out, “I like what they do to you, every time I wear them you get this _look_ in your eyes like you want to _devour_ me and—“ Such a naughty boy. He doesn’t let him finish that bold confession instead rips off said underwear and does exactly what the Welshman regaled, _devours him whole_. 

Taking in his boy’s cock from root to tip one smoo-oooth motion “Fuck, fuck,ahhhh Cristiano!” he smirks around the cock in his mouth loving how broken his lover sounds already, he’s going to be an absolute mess when they’re done! He slurps around Gareth spit dripping off the corners off his widely spilt lips bobbing his head slowly up and down ignoring Gareth’s pleas of _faster faster please_. 

Easily holding down Gareth’s thrusting hips leaving him desperate and pleading, his to do whatever he pleases with. 

Gareth is a babbling squirming mess on the bed when he glances up drinking in the scene that awaits him: bitten red lips, flushed cheeks and eyes so dilated that only a thin rim of stormy blue remain around the large glossy pupil. 

He catches those glacial eyes and holds the gaze as he trails his index finger down the soft curve of Gareth’s ass fingering at the divide between the cheeks, teasing, before going in for the kill. Pressing at the tight rosebud opening that beckons him like a record waiting to be broken, “Wait. There’s… um stuff in the drawer” the Welshman stutters out sounding far too _innocent_ for what he’s alluding to and that just won’t do, Gareth is no blushing virgin they’ve fucked far too much for that. 

“Stuff? What do you mean Gaz? What is _stuff?_ " his fingers continue their gentle prodding as his voice demands answers and a blush is the first response and a downward shift of crisp sky blues, “Gareth answer me” and the demand instilled in his voice is as hard as steel and the boy licks his lips rocking up to lock eyes once more before saying “Lube. There’s lube in the drawer I want you to get the lube to fuck me with, is that what you want to hear?” 

_God_. 

He loves when Gareth gets fired up all cocky grin or angry fierce eyes with confidence oozing from his skin, he wishes he was able to see that Gareth more often. 

Lifting up and off, he swaggers over to the aforementioned drawer pulling it open to reveal a sizeable bottle of lube but feeling a green monster roar in his chest when he sees that it’s been opened and he’s _never_ seen it before. 

Rage fills him up until he’s certain that he will explode and Gareth must sense that like one senses a storm on the horizon, “I’ve used it already. On myself. When I can’t have you and I’m too horny to wait” those words chase away all thoughts from his mind-erasing images of a red-faced Arbeloa standing over _his_ boy both panting and out of breath- leaving behind only the present. 

Gareth bound to the bed, cock straining in the air as the young striker pleads for _something_ and he promises to give him _everything_. 

Quick as lightning he removes his clothing, muscles flexing in movement until he’s completely bare and ready to take what he’s been craving for so long. “Gorgeous” he hears the awed voice of his lover as they stare at each other across the room, two lone stars that have been caught in each other’s orbital pull across the universe, close but never close enough time slowing down so neither are sure if one is moving too slow or the other is moving too fast; until they finally _crash_. 

Driven by those thoughts, he leaps across the room back on Gareth pushing his legs further apart nudging forcefully back to his rightful spot. 

He wastes no time slacking up his fingers and pressing _innnn_ , groaning when the hole opens up easily for his seeking fingers until it swallows his entire finger; such a greedy slutty hole. 

“Nnnng not...... a slut” Gareth puffs out and he didn’t realize he’d said that out loud but now he fully understands what they are doing here so he has no problem pushing in deeper and replying with dominant certainty, “You _are_ my slut aren’t you baby? Walking around with my name branded on your ass, waiting for me to come and _claim it_. You wanted it so badly in the bathroom couldn’t stop yourself from dropping on your knees and worshipping my cock and now you want it _in you_. In your hungry. Little. Hole” each word emphasized with a hard press of his finger inside Gareth. 

Drilling in and out, fingers slippery from all the slick on his hands and there is little to no resistant and he’s so hard he could pound nails in with his cock but he’ll settle for a willing hole, Gareth’s willing hole. 

The wet sound of his fingers rapidly exiting and entering Gareth fill the room obscenely then he wraps them around himself transferring the slick, moaning at the feel of his own hands and just thinking about how it’ll feel inside his boy. He forgoes a condom as they usually do, thrusting his hips forward groaning at the littlest stimulation on his erection mushroom head catching on the rim of the sacred hole until he’s swimming in sensation, light headed and blissed out. 

His cock is wrapped in slick velvet heat as he sinks down until his entire length is consumed, “Ahhh fucking perfect” he can’t help but grunt out. 

Chest to chest, nose to nose they lay on the bed eyes clashing and he can’t hold himself back any longer before he draws back and _slams_ forward simultaneously his lips crash down onto those bitten red lips! 

His tongue mimics the _in-out-in-out_ motion of his hips plundering both of the Welshman’s holes relentlessly, clamping down on those hips as he sets a frantic pace for this _fucking_ , there is no other word for what they are doing, crashing into each other like asteroids. 

_More_ his brain and body demand and he pulls Gareth’s legs around his waist while rocking onto his knees, giving himself more leverage to thrust down into that wet heat the answering moans the most beautiful music to his ears. 

“Who do you belong to?” he hears himself question, “Who is the only one allowed to _break_ you apart like this? **Who do you belong to?** " the last inquiry is echoed with particularly brutal thrust and hard bite to tight pink nipples and Gareth is like a live wire twisting and turning before screaming, “You, you, **you. I belong to you!** ” 

Those words set him ablaze and he loses himself to the raging animal inside taking Gareth hard and fast, just rutting like an animal in heat pulling out until only his cock tip remains then pounding in so hard his boy jets up the bed and his head slams into the backboard and the _BANG_ rings out in the room. 

He continues his onslaught chasing that indescribable pleasure he knows is lurking around the corner, until he feels Gareth tightening gripping him so snugly it borders on pain and he sees starbursts when he squeezes his eyes shut. A blast of sticky wetness lands on his chest and _one, two, three_ thrusts and he’s gone flying high. Heaven. 

 

******~~~~~~******~~~~~~******** 

“Could you untie me?” his voice hurts from all his previous screaming and overuse but his arms are aching from their overhead position and he needs to get some space between himself and Cristiano, who has all but collapsed on his chest after that….he doesn’t know what to call it. 

He truly hadn’t meant for anything to happen, he knew he had ruined dinner so much so Aaron had lied to get away and he’d planned to apologize to Cris and send him away to lick his wounds. 

Hearing Cristiano praise James like that, it was gut wrenching. 

He'd wanted to simultaneously scream, kick, break everything in sight and curl up in a small ball and... weep. 

He was _pathethic_. 

But then Cristiano had spoken saying all the right words and he hadn’t been able to control himself, hopelessly throwing himself into the Portuguese’s arms desperately needing comfort and fearful of how much longer he would be able to get it. 

James’ face looming in his mind. 

He hadn’t wanted to think anymore, his thoughts his own worst enemy so he’d given himself completely to Cris, offered up his body like a penalty kick knowing exactly what the striker would do: take control and nail it. Now, now he feels utterly _raw_ all of his emotions bursting at the seams and if he doesn’t get away now he doesn’t know what he might do, _what he might say_. 

At Cris’ prolonged silence, he attempts to wriggle his hands free of their clothe prison freeing himself after a few minutes and he eases the sleeping (when did that happen?) Portuguese to the side of the bed, taking a second to drink in his beauty before limping to the bathroom. 

He splashes some water on his face to clear his mind where a war is waging but the main question remains: should he tell Cris about James and the bathroom incident? Even the locker room situation? He’s tired of hiding his emotions from the man he loves always feeling like he’s tethering on a tightrope about to fall into an encompassing darkness. 

_I have to tell him_ , he finally decides knowing he should have done that from the beginning but crippled by fear, fear of losing the one thing that he can’t live without. 

The sharp tone of a phone ringing disrupts his thoughts and he rushes out to answer it before it can ruse his slumbering lover, coming out to see it’s Cris’ phone that’s ringing when he picks it up James’ smiling face greets him and only his quick reflexes stop him from dropping the phone. He contemplates answering before the decision is taken away from him and the ringing stops, he missed the call. 

_Good_. 

He knows he’s acting crazy and he goes to place the phone back on the night stand when a message comes in, _Cristiano, it’s James we need to talk. I think you know about what meet me at the training ground tomorrow, alone please_. 

He drops the phone barely hearing the thump it makes as it lands on his carpeted floor, the beating of his heart is deafening. The heart that he can feel crumbling into pieces, _it’s all over_. Falling to the ground, he can’t stop the tears that run down his face. 

_It’s better to have loved and lost_ ……..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a dozy! I feel emotionally drained it was initially a.... happy chapter but then this happened and I left it because it felt right. But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt to write. The next chapter will have more revelations and get ready for my signature telenovela style of writing, good news is I've written most of it already bad news is shit will hit the proverbial fan :) please don't hate me loves. 
> 
> P.s. my beta is super busy this week and I didn't want to keep you lovelies waiting so all mistakes are my own also it's 4:17 in the morning. I will be combing through again when my brain isn't fired, anyway enjoy and comments are my favorite things ever!


	13. Mierda

He wakes up suddenly and gradually all at once, blinking sleep-blurred eyes and taking a few precious seconds to recall his surroundings, Gareth’s bedroom; specifically in his bed but when he turns to get his hands on the host he’s greeted by an empty space and no Welshman. Strange. 

He’s woken up with his boy so often and it’s always the same, the confidence Gareth lacks in conscious times he reclaims completely in his unconscious state, latching onto him like a newborn koala, all their limbs artlessly entangled like a misplaced puzzle piece that’s been forced into a space. 

But not today, Gareth is nowhere to be seen and based on the coolness of the sheets he’s been absent for a while. 

Almost immediately he recalls their; active night together and he feels blood rush down so quickly he’s grateful that he’s already in a bed, his knees feel a bit weak. Last night was….a _fucking_ dream literally, but he hasn’t forgotten the buildup and the unease he could see in Gareth’s ice mist eyes and he wants to punch himself, why did he even let Gareth seduce him? 

This relationship isn’t about sex. 

Yet, he'd seen that Gareth was clearly hurting from something, something he still doesn’t know and he should have kept pushing but having his boy offer him everything he never knew he wanted was just too much temptation for him and now here is he, alone, in bed. Once again, they've failed to address their issue instead falling into a sexual daze while ignoring the all the glaring signs that everything might not be as stable as they both have decided to pretend they are.

 _Shit_.

 _Well that stops right now we are talking and nothing he says or does will distract me_ , he thinks determinedly willing his erection down because stop it dammit he has self-control! 

After a quick pit stop in the bathroom, he makes his way down to the kitchen and he doesn’t have to look very far to find his missing Welshman, back facing him slightly bent over the granite table counter and it’s not until he hears the lovely accented voice that he realizes that Gareth is on the phone. 

“I didn’t mean to do it! I just…. I panicked and it was done before I could stop it. Should….. should I tell him?.....” he’s beyond curious at this line of conversation, what exactly has Gareth done that has him so worked up? Who is he speaking to, who should he tell?? 

Distracted by his thoughts he carelessly collides with a withdrawn chair and the _Crrrrkkkkk_ is glaringly loud in the still silence of the kitchen and Gareth jumps like a startled animal, twisting around with wide eyes and a pretty opened mouth. 

Silently, they gaze at each other across the wide expanse of space that separates them before the spell is abruptly broken, “Gareth?....... Hello are you still there?” He easily recognizes the similar accented voice of Aaron on the other line continually calling out for Gareth until he tires of this staring contest and says, “Answer him and tell him you have to go. We need to talk” he doesn’t intend for his voice to come off as commanding as it does but it shakes Gareth out of his revere; making him wondering what exactly has his lover so preoccupied, what is on his mind? 

He easily moves around the kitchen, he’s been here many times, has made many meals for himself and Gareth following a deliciously extraneous encounter. 

It becomes clear that Gareth does not want him to overhear his conversation based on the not-so surreptitious glances he feels in his direction and the quiet hitch of his voice, his boy has never been his secretive and he doesn’t like it, one bit. 

It’s just as he feels his patience slipping that Gareth finally ends the phone call and then.......silence. 

The distinct growling of the coffee machine is deafening in the absence of noise and then Gareth is turning back to face him and the terror on his face is applicable to Sergio after he’s conceded a foul in the penalty box. He waits to see if Gareth will lead this discussion but it becomes apparent the Welshman has no intention of anything of the sorts, so once again he has to face this head on. 

“What happened last night?” based on Gareth’s soft gasp it’s not what he’d been expecting but he's trying to rectify his mistakes from the past night. He's enjoyed himself, there was no use in denying that but he can't help but think there's something that Gareth is hiding from him and no matter how wonderfully distracting last night was; it was just that a distraction. 

It almost makes him feel dirty, thinking that Gareth would utilize sex to avoid talking to him about whatever is bothering him and has been bothering him for a while. "I thought you liked what we did last night....did I do something wrong?" Gareth finally responds and he's so sick of the non answers and avoidances, "Not the sex, what led to the sex. What happened at dinner why did you shut down on us? On _me_? Gareth, what's wrong?" 

The crack of his voice is not intentional but it's _honest_ he doesn't know what's happening to them and he's scared it could all just slip through his fingers. 

Gareth's face remains frozen in shock until it goes blank. Deceptively blank, vacant gaze before he sits down and motions for Cris to do the same. "I...." a deep gasping breath, "I know you're attracted to James. I don't blame you, he's young, talented,.....handsome everything you would be looking for. I saw the way you looked at him when we all went out dancing and I just....." 

There's no way to describe the pit that collapses in his stomach. 

His hands hurt from where his finger nails are digging into his skin from how tightly he's clenching his fists. Gareth could be speaking _French_ for all he knows, he's no longer listening to anything that's being said. All he can hear are his own thoughts, _I've done everything I can to prove myself, why does everyone see me as a heartless monster who simply tosses people aside as if they are toys to be played with?_

He's come to expect it from most people but Gareth.....what they are to each other doesn't it establish a bridge of trust? Isn't the foundation of every good relationship trust and honesty? If Gareth thinks so little of him, what exactly are they even _doing_ here? They've had so many misunderstandings and dealt with them in their own ways but they always end up back here. Insecurities poking holes into the paper-thin sheet of their relationship. 

Being with someone you love shouldn't be this damn hard if it's meant to be, so maybe, just _maybe_ they aren't meant to me. 

It's his anger and feelings of betrayal that lead him to jerking his chair back, standing and walking right out the door. He says nothing to Gareth because he's done talking, done begging him to give them a chance, done being the bad guy.

Done. 

 

He's in the parking lot of the Valdebebas without any conscious decision on his part, he'd jumped into his car and stepped on the gas, muscle memory the only thing guiding him to his destination as his brain still processed all that had just happened. Anger finally fading to hurt, unbridled hurt that makes his heart ache recalling how resigned and certain Gareth had looked proclaiming that Cris was attracted to another man. 

Football has always been a form of therapy for him and he's never needed it more than now, the hurt that he feels from Gareth's accusation stings despite his attempts to push the thought out of his mind. 

No one bats an eye at seeing him here on his day off, perhaps everyone was right and he does train too often. He'll never admit that to them though, Marcelo would never let him hear the end of it. 

Making his way into the locker rooms to change into one of his many sets of training clothes, he tries to clear his mind of any unsavory thoughts but he can't help the guilt that begins to overwhelm him. He hated when Gareth avoided their problems yet he'd just done the very same thing, worst even. 

He'd just left, up and left and Gareth truly believes he wants someone else, James. 

Sweet innocent James who looks at him likes he's the Sun, Moon and the stars. Now he's not blind or stupid or particularly modest, he knows that James wants, admires him and that his admiration has blossomed into full blown desire, a puppy love of sorts. But for the life of him, he can't understand what he's done to warrant these wrongful accusations from Gareth. He's done nothing to encourage James, who honestly hasn't done anything either besides gaze at him with a very obvious heart-on. 

He refuses to accept the blame for this, he's been loyal and honest with Gareth, he's human and he could have possibly been watching James that night but his eyes never once strayed again once his boy entered the picture, his attention was safely secured as it always was when Gareth was around. 

Taking deep calming breaths, he makes his way onto the pitch ready to take put his frustrations on a few helpless balls. Anything to take his mind off the shambles that his life seems to have become, guess all the songs are right nothing good; lasts forever.

 

 

 

His nerves are shot, have been since he woke up this morning anxious to see if he'd gotten a response. Disappointment palpable when various messages greet him but none from the one he wants he most, Cristiano. His decision to send the text had been impulsive, capricious, _stupid_. 

So damn stupid. 

They were friends before at least, joking around on the pitch even hugging and celebrating goals together and he'd thrown that all away on a whim. Cristiano doesn't want him, never wanted him, why would he when he had Gareth? 

Sergio had been right he should have been satisfied when what little they had and now he has to go out on that pitch and play beside both of them knowing that he's been effectively rejected. _Ay dios mio_ , what if he's shown the message to Gareth?! Or anyone else his stomach drops like the faces of fans in the stand watching their team be decimated by another. This is not what he intended, he honestly thought the attraction was mutual, can still feel the Portuguese's eyes on his swaying hips. 

Panic is setting in before he's jolted out of his thoughts by a message from.....Marcelo. _Buenos dias Jamesinho! Would you like to meet me at the Valdebebas today?_ :), it's the last place he wants to be knowing that he invited Cristiano to do the very same thing and he couldn't even deign him with an answer. 

But, it's Marcelo, beautiful Marcelo who looks like the sun itself with his dazzling spirals of hair and ever-present smile, being around him is like bathing in the sun rays and right now he could use some sunshine. The dark clouds that are residing above his head won't dissipate on their own. 

Before he can second guess himself (wouldn't this have been more appropriate last night before he sent that text?), he fires off a reply of confirmation, chuckling when he sees all the ridiculous emojis he receives in response; he didn't even know there was a werewolf emoji. Marcelo is so weird. 

 

Training with Marcelo- call me Celo, _Hamezzzz_ \-- is too much fun to be considered real work, they work on passing for a few minutes but it quickly dissolves into them performing tricks and then Celo starts to salsa with that ball, hips sensually rolling and distracting him from any coherent thoughts. 

He blushes scarlet red when his eyes linger a bit too long and the answering smirk he receives informs him that he's been caught. Then it gets worst when he looks up and Celo casually says, "Don't be embarrassed I watch you too. It's hard not to, you're very distracting." He's never had a team mate flirt with him so unapologetically, his mind flashes to Radamel but that was different, more innocent: just touches here and there, hugs that lasted entirely too long nothing of _this_ caliber. 

Ignoring the voice in his head that questions why is he more affected by the sultry Brazilian than someone who he grew up admiring, idolizing, Colombian royalty. 

He doesn't respond to Celo's teasing words, completely unaware of what to say but the Brazilian doesn't seem to have been waiting for a response, has drifted back into a solo game of keepy-ups with the ball. 

In an inspired moment, he darts over and steals the ball right from Marcelo's feet and dribbles it away, laughing at the affronted "Hey!" his delighted laughter filling the empty spaces of the pitch, high and musical coloring the wind with its radiance. Not one to be outdone Celo attempts to steal the ball back from him, swarming him and pressing into his back and he decides to get his revenge for all the teasing he's endured since joining the team. 

Mischievously, he thrusts his hips backwards immediately feeling a puff of air leave those lips and as Celo is frozen in shock (read:arousal) he turns and deftly slides the ball through his widespread feet, a perfectly executed nutmeg. 

The resounding shock on Marcelo's face _almost_ makes him feel guilty, but immediately his pout tilts upwards and his booming laughter is so loud James can feel it rattling all his bones, his face hurts from smiling so hard in return. 

 

 

Alvaro knows what most of the fans think about him, that he's not good enough to play for the team, he's not fast like Gareth, tenacious like Marcelo, skillful like Cristiano, tactical like Luka, pure magic like Isco, he reads all the comments and has heard all of the rumors of his departure. 

It used to hurt in a deep felt visceral way, made his blood simultaneously boil and run cold. 

Now it only leaves a mild stinging feeling behind, he's given his all for this club and he refuses to let anyone defile his time here with the greatest club in the world, he may not be the best but he must have done something right to garner their attention. He's no superstar but he's dependable like a mini van, so he understands why Gareth would naturally gravitate to Cristiano, who is a sport cars car in all ways. 

Extravagant and desirable, much more so than he, who Gareth seems to see but looks right through, writing him off as a friend-only no desire to be anything more. 

It's he who welcomes Gareth, carefully speaks to him in English, congratulates him on winning the Welsh player of the year award for a third time but all of that is not enough to battle with the supernova that is, Cristiano Ronaldo. The Portuguese doesn't need to do anything to retain Gareth's attention, his mere existence is enough to have the young Welshman completely enraptured and Alvaro has never been so jealous in his entire life. 

These are the thoughts that fuel him through his training, they've all been given a day off but he finds that staying home and drowning in his own thoughts is the last thing he wants to do. So he runs until the sweat stings his eyes, pouring down his face and dripping onto the immaculately groomed grass of the training grounds. 

He's aware he's not the only one here training, seen the cars in the parking lot and known immediately who they belonged to- Cristiano, James and Marcelo. They all seem to be best friends of late, shown by their synchronized moves on the pitch. 

Everyone looking on as they performed to invisible music that only they were able to hear. 

All done in good fun, but he'd seen the broken look on Gareth's expressive face, before its wiped clean as if it were never there. 

The annoyance that builds in his chest is all consuming, he would never treat Gareth like that. Make him feel like that, _excluded_. If Gareth were his.......if. If. He's gone down this road one too many times, picturing the multitude of ways he would be, could be better for the beautiful Welshman. Picturing the things he would love to do with him, _to_ him. 

And it's not all sexual, Gareth is very tempting that much is obvious with his wide sensual lips, pale breakable skin and those eyes; every changing eyes that can look at clear as the summer skies or stormy as the ocean proceeding a storm, eyes he's dreamed about so many times he could describe them down to every minute detail. 

But there's so much more to Gareth than a pretty face, he's smart and funny and so damn _nice_. 

Most people wouldn't find that a particularly important feature but he's not most people, he loves how Gareth makes sure to praise all his team mates on the pitch; clapping at a pass gone wrong or excitedly pointing to those who assist him. Gareth never has a bad word to say about anyone and despite his title as the most expensive footballer, in the _world_ he doesn't let that define his character. 

He's still that boy from Wales, the left-back that Tottenham didn't know how to play, even considered loaning out just to be rid of. Before he'd exploded onto the scene and set the footballing world on fire, reminding everyone of a young Cristiano winning all the awards and proving all his naysayers wrong, whilst still staying true to himself no ego to be found. Still Gareth. 

Simply, Gareth Frank Bale. 

Everything that he wants but just like those stars that twinkle in the night sky, just out of reach yet so beautiful that you can't help looking and dreaming of one day attaining. _Puff, puff, puff_ , his own breath thunders in his ears before he has to stop to catch his breath, too heated from running so long without stopping and his traitorous thoughts. 

After being in love with the boy for so long, he'd expected the ache in his chest that occurs whenever he thinks about how unattainable Gareth would have lessened, but every second spent in his presence solidifies how strong his feelings are. Is it possible to love something that's never truly been yours? He's finding the answer to be a resounding, _yes_! 

Enough. 

He's had enough of this self-afflicted torture, this was meant to be an reprieve from his thoughts but he can't escape Gareth even in his thoughts, especially in his thoughts. As he's making his way back into the locker rooms- desperately in need of a shower, he sees a lone football on the pitch and instinctively runs towards it, leg drawn back and _Thwack_! It soars in a perfect arch flying until its caught in the encompassing embrace of the net. 

At least he can score that. 

 

 

 

It's been a great day, one of the bests he has had in a while. 

He could have never guessed that the starry-eyed boy he'd help to comfort on football's biggest stage would one day be his team mate, it's surreal. James was a star that much was evident but Madrid was huge, astronomical and daunting it could bulldoze you if you weren't ready and he wasn't sure if the little Colombian boy wonder was ready. 

Lord, he was happy to be proven wrong! The Colombian slotted into the team like a missing puzzle piece, both on and off the pitch. 

It's hard for anyone to feel anything but joy when faced with his illuminating smile, and Marcelo is no different. His attraction quickly shifts from sexual to emotional, he doesn't just want to know what James would look like under him panting hotly, he wants to know what it's like to wake up beside him and daydreams about counting those adorable freckles scattered across the bridge of his pert nose. 

It's dangerous feeling this way about James when he's made his own attraction to Marcelo's best friend so obvious but he's never been one to shy away from a challenge, everyone gets drawn into Cris' gravitational pull it's _natural_. He'd been drawn in too before realizing that they made much better friends, brothers even and the sexual tension melted away into a familial love that has defined their relationship for years. 

So he'd ignored Sergio's warnings and invited James to train with him, an innocent non-date of sort, a way of spending time together without the pressure of defining what they are because he knows that James is still caught up in a certain Portuguese's solar flare. But what a day it's been! 

He'd have to have been deaf and blind to miss the flirtations from James, the teasing glances and answering touches, all fueling his desire to just hold the Colombian down and make him forget everyone and everything but _his_ name and _his_ touch. It's a miracle that he'd been able to focus on training for as long as he did yes, they'd digressed into moments of playful banter but really that's to be expected with him, even in formal training he finds it difficult to keep his pranks to a minimum despite the watching gaze of _el míster_. 

He can't help but chuckle recalling the nutmeg, that little shit has distracted him with his....assets and turned the tables on him, he really shouldn't find it as sexy as he does. 

He laughs even harder remembering the undignified way that said Colombian had squeaked when he'd caught him and wrestled him into a retaliatory head lock, ruffling his too-perfect locks while screaming at him to respect his elders!

They'd joyously walked back into the locker room, aiming for a quick shower before getting some lunch but he'd remembered he forgot his hair tie back on the pitch after James had pulled it out claiming he preferred his hair untamed and wild, fingers raking through the curly forest of his hair. His toes _curl_ in remembrance, his hair has always been a weakness. 

He's walking back into the locker room with a bounce in his step, before the vibration of voices reach his ears, he easily recognizes James and.....Cris? 

How long as he been here? That damn workaholic, he should be using this opportunity to spend time with his lover not training on his day off! He angrily turns the corner prepared to send the Portuguese back home and ban him from coming back here until they have an official training session, he's prepared for his best friend to scoff off his demands and regal the dedication it requires to be named the best footballer in the world- 3 times, arrogant smirk in place. 

He's prepared for everything but what he sees, James and Cristiano......kissing. 

Lips connected. 

James' eyes closed lost in the passion of the kiss and Cristiano's wide open, his hands dangling to the side in vast contrast to the tight grip James has on his sweaty shirt. He hears a gasps from behind him and quickly spins around, meeting the gaze of a shocked Arbeloa, who leaves before he can even open his lips the stench of his anger so heavy it lingers in the air following his departure. This can't end well. 

Shit. 

 

 

There is an omnipresent tension that hangs over the locker room and Sergio for one has no explanation why. 

No one is making eye contact and he shares a confused look with Iker, mentally communicating "What the hell is going on??" The five that seem the most distanced from the group are Cristiano, Gareth, James, Marcelo and Alvaro, the four former seem has if they would rather be anywhere but here while the latter is sending off waves of anger so strong it's near _drowning_ him even from this distance. 

He watches Gareth and James watch Cristiano, while Marcelo watches James and as always Alvaro's eye linger on Gareth, getting a smidgen softer when they do before surging up when he looks at the others. None of it makes any sense to him, and it’s ranking everyone in the locker room Pepe and Fabío attempt to drag Celo and Cristiano out of their unusual silence with the usual jokes and shenanigans but neither respond as if they are thousands of miles away, too far for anyone to reach them; voices simply echoing down vacant caverns. 

Then he shudders, he has a vague idea of what could be occurring and it makes his stomach twist with dread, dread that doubles as he watches Arbeloa approach a withdrawn Gareth sitting down far closer than he has ever ventured before. It only takes a butterfly-soft caress to have Cristiano moving across the room so quickly, he blinks and the Portuguese is roughly dragging away the overtly familiar hand of Alvaro and in another blink of an eye- said Spaniard pulls his hand away and steps in front of Gareth as if he has to protect the Welshman from his own boyfriend. 

“Get the hell away from him!” Alvaro angrily hisses with a murderous gaze etched on his bearded face and the locker room goes eerily quiet and quick as lightning, he sees his Iker clearing out the locker room-the second time this very month, dammit- trying to minimize the damage this altercation will cause for the team. 

“You don’t fucking deserve him!” the Spaniard continues and Cristiano face shifts from shock to barely concealed loathe, “Don’t tell me what I deserve, I know you want him-wanted him since he got here but guess what? He doesn’t want you! He wants me, has always wanted me and there’s nothing you can do to change that” and that’s when he sees a look on Alvaro’s face that’s he’s never seen before, it’s a distorted look of bitter glee. 

It should never be on his face. On _anyone's_ face. 

With a fleeting looking of apology to Gareth, who seems shocked by this battle that seems to be ensuing over him, Alvaro drops a bomb so deadly it sucks all the air out of the room; “Me? No, Cristiano I don’t have to do anything you’ve done it all yourself- Marcelo steps forward as if to stop the Spaniard from finishing his sentence but he shoots a glare so deadly cold it stops the sunny Brazilian in his tracks- “—I never wanted to come between you two, you’re right I want him so badly it makes my blood _sing_ sometimes but I want him to be happy more than I want him to be with me. But he’s not enough for you is he? Your ego is so huge you can’t see what a fucking gift you’ve been given!” 

Alvaro pauses in the midst of his impassioned speech to crouch down and gently place his hand on the face of wide eyed Gareth, “I never meant for you to get hurt, I truly didn’t. You deserve nothing but all the best that the world has to give”, he takes a deep breath, “He kissed James I saw them yesterday. I don’t know how long this has been going on but I couldn’t let him keep playing with you like this--” 

Sergio has never seen Gareth move as quickly as he does following that revelation. Including the Copa Del Rey final. 

The Welshman darts around Alvaro pushing his grasping hands away, drawing back from all of them emulating a wounded animal, eyes frantically moving around the room before landing on Cristiano. 

Fuck. 

The look of overwhelming guilt that covers the Portuguese’s face answers all the questions that Gareth’s pleading-no, no please- eyes seem to be asking. Then James further hammers the nail in the coffin with his whispered, "I'm so sorry I never meant to hurt anyone." 

With a pained noise, Gareth flees the locker room with a seething Spaniard on his tail, who throws a toxic gaze over at Cristiano and James before rushing out calling for the Welshman to wait. He watches Cristiano….. _deflate_. Sinking to the bench like a man who has lost everything, with a heavy heart he looks over at Iker mentally communicating, 

_mierda_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter purposely leaves a lot of unanswered questions and the original title was "Shit, you're all idiots" because as you can see everything is a mess and nobody is talking like adults probably should. The next chapter will focus more on the Crismes kiss because that is very vague and it's time to find out what really happened. Until then don't hate me too much, you knew this was coming I'm actual the worst. Just remember things are not always as they seem.


	14. Gareth Fucking Bale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes love, breaks your heart.

The sun had kept on shining, birds kept on chirping, the world kept on spinning as if it didn’t know that _his_ world had just been shattered; everything stayed the same, he could hear the coffee machine percolating grinding the fresh imported Colombian beans just as Cristiano had pulverized his heart into the cold marble floor of his kitchen.

He hadn’t tried to prevent the inevitable- _you tried that last night,_ his traitorous brains supplied- no, this time he had intended to speak just like Aaron had advised (demanded) regardless of the trepidation that settled like lead in the pit of his stomach.

Aaron’s hushed insistent voice that explained to him how wrong he’d gone about everything, ‘Gareth, you need to have more confidence in what you two have and if you think Cristiano is truly attracted to someone you need to confront him, let him explain. I love you, but sometimes you aren’t the most observant person and when you notice something, well…… usually you’re wrong. And for goodness sakes, tell him what you did hiding it will only make things worse, make him feel like you don’t trust him and you do _right_? You trust him?’

That had been when Cristiano had strolled in looking effortlessly beautiful bathed in the light that streamed in through the opulent bay windows that adorned his walls.

He didn’t get a chance to verbally answer the query but mentally he couldn’t help pondering, _do I trust him?_ He’d been so ashamed when the immediate answer wasn’t _yes._ He trusted that Cristiano seemed to enjoy this company and they have the best sex he’s ever had in his entire life, but past that- he wasn't sure what he could offer Cristiano that someone else couldn’t offer in spades.

So when the Portuguese walked out, he wasn't surprised per se. Heart broken, resigned, utterly crushed, but not particularly surprised because hadn't this always been the expected outcome since catching those deep chocolate eyes lingering on the hypnotic sway of brazen Colombian hips?

Now that Cristiano knows that he knows there is no need to continue on pretending that this is going to work, to last.

He’d tried not to acknowledge how easily the Portuguese had been able to walk away from him, from _them,_ as if he were a child’s forgotten toy at the park easily replaced by a trip to the store before anyone was none the wiser. Sipping on his coffee, scolding his tongue and the roof of his mouth; happily accepting the pain because it distracted him from the persisting pain that strummed in the empty cavity where he’s sure his heart once occupied.

The rest of the day passed by in a daze, he thought about going to the training grounds but all too quickly his mind flashes back to the night before-

_He’s a weeping mess on the ground, clutching Cristiano’s iPhone in his hands whilst glaring at the offending message from him. James. Why couldn’t he just leave them alone? Why couldn’t he allow Gareth to have Cristiano for just a little bit longer? He feels a wave of anger crash over him and his fingers are flying across the keyboard before his brain can even catch up with the influx of activity that is occurring. He writes words of dismissal, that he-Cristiano, is busy and then he erases those and writes words of harsh refusal wanting to make the boy hurt as much as he does right now. Then…… then he erases it all and the phone falls out of his hands and he watches it with glossy wet eyes, knowing he can’t do this; he’s not that person he wants Cristiano to be happy. Even if he’s happy with someone else, when you love someone you put their happiness first and if they can’t find happiness with you, well you set them free. So he presses delete. Except now there’s nothing on the screen, nothing at all; no message at all as if James had never sent the message. Shit. What did he do? Now not only does he have to tell Cristiano that he knows about his attraction to James but he also has to reveal that is a controlling prick who reads his boyfriend(ex)’s messages. As if the Portuguese wasn’t going to be leaving him fast enough already. It’s with a weary heart that he finally crawls into bed, laying down as far as physically possible from the human heater residing in his bed. Swaddled in thick, soft blankets. He’s never felt so cold._

So he doesn’t go to the training grounds, doesn’t want to potentially have a run-in with a James, can’t trust himself around the young Colombian now that he’s seen proof that James wants what he has, _who_ he has.

He’d sat there staring out of his big bay windows with eyes that reflected the sky, as the world went on as if _his_ world hadn’t just walked out the door; he’d felt betrayed by the beautiful day rain would be more fitting, a tsunami would be more fitting.

 

 

 

 _I told you so,_ his insecurity whispers to him as he pushes his way out of the locker room drawing in deep breaths of fresh air because there’d been no air in there, all the air had been sucked out with Arbeloa’s heavily accented but easily understood: He kissed James. Cristiano kissed James.

Lips touching—he doesn’t want to imagine it but his brain immediately drafts up an all too realistic vision of similar dark haired silhouettes locked in a passionate embrace, kissing as if they are drowning and the only oxygen to be found is in the other’s mouth. 

The urge to throw up is overwhelming.

He’d thought there would be more time for him to get used to this, more time to accept that Cristiano is no longer his boyfriend, his lover, his _anything_ ; but there’s no time. When Cristiano had left his place days ago and ignored his calls and texts that had been his way of saying _we’re over leave me alone,_ and he hadn’t recognized he’d thought that the Portuguese would at least break up with him first, officially, say the words ‘we are over’ and then his heart would shatter into a million trillion pieces and he would have to start working on mending it back together.

Well, his heart still shattered as expected but it’s a deeper crack than he could have fathomed.

 _He kissed James, he kissed James, he kissed James_ is all he can hear on a loop and he hates them both, he hates everyone; everyone who told him to believe in this, everyone who claimed that he and Cristiano were fated, everyone who ever looked at them like they had a chance.

They _never_ had a chance, how could they when he’s just Gareth _fucking_ Bale? Underneath his useless muscles, fame, and celebrity he’s still that knobby-kneed, Dumbo eared boy who never had many lads growing up and played football alone in the yard with his dad while all the other boys had each other. What made him think he could be _wanted_ when he’s never been wanted before?

At least never when it counted.

This was inevitable, being alone is his default and trying to change that had been his biggest err, a mistake he won’t be making again. When he’d learned that they were being given a few days off to relax, rejuvenate their bodies after all their victories-15 in a row so far a record- his entire body sighs in relief because he won’t have to face Cristiano (or James), won’t have to face anyone.

He just needs time to himself to mourn his loss and lick his wounds and _cry all day,_ maybe more than one day, days if needed and then he can come back and focus on football and forget his doomed romance with Cristiano, who will be far happier with James and he’ll be happy for them.

Okay, not happy he’s not that forgiving- but he’ll let Cristiano go.

Because he loves him, more than he’s ever loved anyone. More than he’ll ever love anyone.

For the first time, he turns his head and looks out the window sighing at the greeting sight of effervescent fluffy white clouds that stretch across the infinite clear-water blue sky unable to feel any resentment at the beauty of this day.

A flight assistant is making rounds and inquiries if he would like anything- a warm blanket, water, glass of champagne?-and after glancing over at his bearded companion who has lost the battle with the sandman he quietly requests for a blanket, before draping it over the broad evenly rising chest. He’s going home, he’s been away too long and right now there’s nothing he needs more than the warm encompassing hug of his mum.

Eyes grow heavy until he too fades, into dream land. He’s forgotten what it feels like to dream after _living_ his dream for the past few months but now his reality is a nightmare and escape is the only riposte.

 

_Just hold on we’re going home…………_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small Gareth interlude to give you some insight in our boy's mindset. As you can tell, he's not in a very happy logical place and he's pretty much given up all hope. But we all know mama don't like quitters and the next chapter should shine some light on what _really_ happened between Cris and James. I wonder who Gareth is traveling with....... so many questions until next time my dears!


	15. Mejor

He doesn’t stop until his eyes are burning, tinged red and teary from the steady flow of sweat that rolls down the flat surface of his forehead, passing through the groomed valleys of his eyebrows until they collect in droplets on his dewy eyelashes.

His body is tightly wound from his self-inflicted torture he’d lost track of the amount of laps he ran, barely able to hear his own thoughts over the _boom boom boom_ of his pounding heart, desperate to lose himself on the pitch. 

Despite feeling as if he’d left his heart behind when he’d ran out on Gareth. _Gareth._

He’d done everything he could to push the Welshman and his horrible morning to the dark crevices of his mind, but like an itch under his skin he couldn’t get away, couldn’t stop scratching desperate to get relief that would never come. He was weak, so damn _weak._

All he could think of was racing back to his car and driving back to his boy, taking that pale hand into his hands and telling him how much he loves him, needs him, _yearns_ for him in ways that were deep felt and indescribable- but he can’t, because Gareth doesn’t trust him or his words and he’s so tired of fighting. He feels like a boxer that’s been sparring in the ring for years who finally just _stopped_ and only then does fatigue catch up and his muscles lose their fight with gravity and he just falls to the floor, knock out. 

So he runs and kicks and pushes himself until his only thoughts are, ‘should my heart be beating this fast?’ and ‘Is it normal that I can’t feel any bones in my left arm?’ those questions are comparatively simpler to decode than the one question that has been clouding his mind all day. 

'What should I do?’ Cristiano knows that he wants, mind immediately flashing to the red panting face of his lover writhing beneath him lost in the throes of passion. If he were only interested in sex this would all be much easier, he wouldn’t feel so broken up that the man he loves doesn’t seem to love _himself_ enough to believe that what they have is real and not just a passing fancy, something replaceable; something _borrowed._

He’s given more to Gareth than he’s ever given to anyone, the power he holds over the Portuguese is overwhelming. Introducing Gareth to his son hadn’t been something he had thought about, it was natural- he wanted the two most important people in his life to know each other and learn to love each other, the way he loved them. Now he cringes thinking about Junior’s face when he informs him that Gareth and Alba won’t be a fixture in their lives anymore, no more sleep overs or tangled bodies on his sofa as they all watch a sappy family movie; how the hell is he supposed to break his son’s heart like that? 

His brain is rattling around in his head when he finally enters the locker room purposely walking to the showers, desperate to wash off the sweat and frustration that clings to his skin like a leech draining him of any remaining energy. The collision shocks him as he’s not expecting anyone to be here, there were all given a day off who else would be foolish enough to waste it here when they could be spending it with their family and friends? 

Shock colors his visage when he steps back and meets the equally shocked expression on a youthful flushed face- James. 

Before he can inquiry to the boy’s (the opened-mouth stare he’s wearing does nothing for his perpetual baby face) presence he’s blinded by the slow-burn of the smile that overtakes his face, “You… you came. I can’t believe you’re here.” The Colombian wonderboy whispers softly, reverently as an altar boy in church leaving Cristiano completely speechless. 

He answers before processing the strangeness of James’ declaration, “I couldn’t stay away I had to come here” and wow, he thought that smile was at its highest level of luminosity but he’s horribly wrong because his words garner one of the brightest smiles this world has yet to seen. He gets the distinct feeling that he's missing something of vast importance but he can't figure out why James would be so ecstatic about his presence, it's hardly unheard of for him to come here on his days off. 

It would be stranger if he _wasn't_ here. 

Things only get stranger and in the blink of an eye he has a blushing Colombian a touch too close in his personal space and he means to take a step back, truly he does. 

Maybe. 

But he doesn’t. 

Because James is sweet and easy and everything he needs now that his heart has been broken beyond repair, _easy no chance of getting hurt,_ so when he sees those shiny pit-slicked lips edging closer and _closer_ to his mouth he stands still, feeling comprehending what's going on but frozen in the spot unsure of what he should do until the choice is taken from his hands and they are kissing. 

Lips tightly pressed together, James slightly shaking until he feels a pull on his shirt tugging him forward, attempting to deepen the kiss and his fist clench at his sides because through it all he feels nothing but an permeating sense of _wrongness._

Those lips are too full, too slick, not wide enough, not chapped enough, not _Gareth_ enough. 

What. 

The. 

Hell. 

Am. 

I. 

Doing? 

This isn't how it was supposed to be, he thought the Colombian was cute and James was clearly attracted to him, this should be _easy_ just meaningless sex a way to forget about Gareth and the ache in his chest but the ache persists and gets stronger if anything. 

Finally it's too much and he jerks back like he’s been burned moving to pry off the wondering hands making faint drills up and down his stomach, when he hears a door slam behind them and turns around so quickly the motion knocks the Colombian back a few steps and he meets the furiously disappointed gaze of his best friend, who looks like he wants to punch him in the face or his _dick._

Guilt washes over him like the sudden downpour of rain he had gotten acquainted with when he was young and strolling the streets of Manchester, he knows that Marcelo likes James has known from the beginning but he still let the boy kiss him. Maybe he truly is as selfish as everyone claims he is. 

“Marcelo…I-It’s not what it looks-“ his lie is preemptively cut off before he can make a further fool of himself, Marcelo isn’t stupid this is _exactly_ what it looks like. No one accidentally trips and kisses someone. 

“Cris don’t. I’m so disappointed in you right now that words can’t even begin to describe it but _I’m_ not the one you need to worry about” the absolute ignominy laced in the normally upbeat Brazilian's voice is enough to have Cristiano bowing his head in shame much like a boy being scolded by his parents. 

Then the words sink in and his head snaps up as he remembers the distinct _bang_ of a door closing, “who?” and Marcelo looks about as tired as he feels carding his fingers through tangled hair- a sign that he’s reached his limit- and now Cristiano is terrified of the possibilities, who could have seen them that would have Marcelo so worried? The Brazilian takes a full-body inhalation of air before his words suck all the air out of Cristiano’s lungs, “Álvaro.” 

His tongue feels huge in his mouth, heavy and dry leaving him unable to speak, unable to scream like he’s doing in his mind. 

It’s a true testament to the selfless of Marcelo that he sees a look of sympathy flash in his eyes before the disappointment returns and he needs to get out of here, _now._ His wrist in taken in a loose hold as he makes his move and he can’t look at James right now, feels disgusted by what he’s done to Marcelo, to himself, to _Gareth._

_Oh god, what has he done?_ Without a single look back, he sprints from the locker room and his infidelity, Gareth was right to have doubted him.

 

 

 

 

The locker room has emptied out following the _revelation_ and he feels sick to his stomach it wasn’t supposed to be like this, _what exactly were you expecting huh? To kiss someone else’s boyfriend and have no repercussions?_ His subconscious sounds suspiciously like a hot-tempered Andalusian who tried to warn him about his unrequited infatuation and now he wishes dreadfully that he has listened, recognized what Sergio had been saying, _leave them alone, don’t fuck this up._

But he’d been selfish and naïve and has hurt so many people he cares about in the process, without his permission Marcelo is the first to come to his mind; sweet Marcelo who tried to stop Álvaro even though he too was disgusted with him and Cristiano and what they’d done. 

His heart plummets when he thinks of what the sunny Brazilian must thing of him now: _home wrecker, selfish, whore_ and he doesn’t blame Marcelo for thinking that. He’d purposely texted someone that he knew was in a relationship and tried to lure them away based on some tension in a club, a gaze in a dark room, he’d ruined a relationship because of hero-worship and he recognizes now that’s all this was; admiration gone gravely array. 

He’s never truly known Cristiano the way it’s required to claim he _loves_ him, he knows Cristiano on paper, knows all the quantifiable information but he doesn’t know his soul, not the way that Gareth does and that’s…. okay. 

Kissing Cristiano had been different, he expected to feel invigorated, high off lust and euphoric; floating so high his feet wouldn’t touch the ground. Instead it had been tense, hard, and then cold because it was only once he saw the hurt expression masking the natural glimmer of Marcelo’s sun rays that he had an epiphany, _oh it’s him._

The realization washes over him and chills him to the bone, he was so busy thinking he was in love with Cristiano that he missed the exact moment when he fell in love with Marcelo. 

He recalls all the late night phone calls sneaking out his bed careful not to wake Daniela snickering just at the sound of the Brazilian’s voice, their goal celebrations-the hugs, dances and eventual kisses on cheeks, and the moments spent in solidarity following a loss; Marcelo wasn’t a creature of solitude as many would testify but when they suffered their first loss as a team he was the only one to sit there with him, no words just his quiet support. 

_Oh , it’s always been him._

This can’t be a common occurrence for someone to realize they are in love with someone after kissing their _best friend,_ after they’ve seen you kissing their best friend. How can he recover from that? Whatever attraction Marcelo felt towards him surely evaporated when he witnessed them joined at the mouth. 

That thought hurts more than anything that has happened today, he doesn’t know what prompted him to kiss Cristiano especially after the wonderful day he’d spent with Marcelo, actually he does know. It was a matter of hurt pride, after an entire life of being told _no_ and then being told _yes_ by the biggest club in the world he felt like he could have anything and _everything_ and he thought he wanted Cristiano and when he’d seemingly rejected his offer he was reminded of all those times he was told no and he didn’t like it. 

Not one bit. 

But then there he was saying everything that James thought he wanted to hear, “I couldn’t stay away” and he’d acted without thinking and the kiss was…. nice but nothing like the mind-blowing experience he had been envisioning since he’d first laid eyes on the Portuguese. 

It was all a fantasy. 

And fantasies never lived up to reality, like a house built on sand it would all begin to fall apart the infrastructure too weak to hold up under the weight. 

Just like his heart was crumbling. 

He was getting what he deserved, he didn’t _deserve_ to be happy; not after actively taking away another’s happiness, not after being the one to put that look of pure defeat on Marcelo’s face, no he deserved _nothing._

"Stop feeling bad for yourself. You’re not the victim in this situation, you are the _villain._ Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, had hoped for? You got Marcelo off your back, Cristiano and Gareth are done and now you can keep playing the innocent act until you worm your way back into Cristiano’s heart and pants” the voice is easily recognizable despite his unusual hard edge, Fábio stands unimpressed in the center of the locker room looking, no sneering at him with barely concealed repulsion like there’s a bad taste in his mouth. 

He never wanted any of his team mates to look at him like that. 

Yet, he knows he has no one to blame but himself he’s ruined the best thing he’ll never have. 

“Don’t bother with the sad puppy eyes, they may work on Cristiano and Marcelo lord knows why, but they will definitely _not_ be working on me” Fábio curt statement cuts like a knife and the warm moisture lodged in his ‘sad puppy eyes’ resolutely cascade down his cheeks and he can’t control the sob that escapes deep from his chest. The last time he can remember crying like this was following the birth of Salomé, those has been tears of resounding joy a drastic contrast to the pain-fueled tears that blur his vision now. 

He’s embarrassed to hear the wet whimpers that leave his mouth and echo throughout the empty cacophonous room, Fábio makes his presence known when he joins him on the bench eyes searching his face until he can’t take those judgmental eyes anymore and drops his head into his hands. 

“Hey what’s wrong? I didn’t mean to make you cry kid, you got what you wanted didn’t you? You don’t have to put on this show; gotta admit it’s pretty convincing though. If football doesn’t work out for you, you definitely have a second calling….” He can’t help the guffaw of laughter after hearing those words, bitter laughter because he’s lost the trust of his team mates this is proof; Fábio currently views him as someone who is capable of crocodile tears to disguise his true nefarious intentions. 

He’s the _villain._

He doesn’t _know_ how if it's possible to fix this but he has to try these people are his family now, he has to show them that he’s not the selfish little boy he’s be acting like lately. 

“I never wanted this, I just-I’m sorry I should be saying this to Cristiano and Marcelo and oh god, _Gareth_ but I doubt any of them would want to talk to me right now and I don’t blame them. I didn’t think of the consequences I didn’t think they were that serious….. no that’s a lie I knew I just didn’t _care_ and I’m sorry for that I’m not that person. I’ve never been that person and now that I am, I—“ he can’t gather himself enough to finish the sentence his throat closing up in abhorrence of everything he’s done. 

“So now you do care? After you’ve broken everything? What’s changed, what changed your mind?” Fábio pressures him, voice losing a bit of the chill it contained in the start of this conversation and now he’s scared, terrified of revealing what he’s only just come to terms with himself- _I was going after the wrong guy._

After the way he has treated Marcelo, casting away his affections to catch even a smidgen from Cristiano who will believe him now? He’s the boy who cried love. So he says nothing needing more time to process everything that’s happened today, needing more time to figure out how he can prove to Marcelo that he was blind and so very stupid to not recognize that there was no one else for him. 

_Siempre Marcelito._

“Listen kid I’ve nothing against you, I _get_ the Cristiano affect but I need you to leave my best friends alone, nothing changes on the pitch but off the pitch you keep your distance, _got it?”_ Fábio tone has recaptured the icy tone that it previously possessed and when he glances up those dark pools are similarly hardened no room for argument and he nods in silent agreement, for now that may be for the best. 

The door slams shut behind the departing Portuguese and he lets out the breath he’d been holding, he hates that he has to lie to Fábio but at least it’s only a half-lie. Staying away from Cristiano is no problem. But Marcelo………

 

 

 

England welcomes him back with a heavy downpour of rain that soaks him when he exits his car to make the short trip to his apartment , flattening the immaculate coif of his hair; all his hard work in the Madrid hotel bathroom for not now. 

He steps through the door with a dog-like shake expelling all the moisture that clings to his expensive suit and bits of skin that are exposed. 

Making the rounds through his apartment, err _their_ apartment opening the curtains though there isn’t much sunlight to be seen past the dark storm clouds that fill the sky but that’s England for you, a reality check. 

His bed is has soft as it was when he reluctantly left it to travel to Madrid but it feels too spacious now without the compact form of his lover, Aaron. Who’d suddenly told him that he wasn’t returning to England with him, instead he was going with Gareth to Wales no discussion just a quick hard smack on his open lips and then he’d begun packing and checking flights on his phone. 

He’s still a bit shocked to say the least. 

But Aaron is nothing if not loyal and once he regales to Olivier why exactly Gareth is escaping to Wales, he’s beyond livid what kind of _imbécile_ would cheat on a man like Gareth? He’s gorgeous in an understated way and innocent- though he reconsiders that one recalling the _interesting_ noises he heard when Cristiano and Gareth had been alone in the bedroom but that’s never here nor there. 

Olivier is a flirt himself, it comes as easily for him as breathing but once he had Aaron he didn’t need anyone else, putting a smile on his Welshman’s face makes him feel like he’s the luckiest guy in the world. 

No one compares to his Rambo. 

His heart aches for the soft-spoken Welshman and the unimaginable anguish he must be feeling, _l’amour est la douleur._

It’s completely unintentional that he starts watching a Real Madrid match it’s a repeat- he can tell because Gareth's hair is short and gelled back, they are facing Schalke and Gareth is _sensational,_ donning a bright orange kit and weaving past the defenders like they are mere traffic cones on an obstacle course and the commentator is equally in awe of his obvious skills, “Woozer, magisterial! As slippery as a baby’s bottom covered in petroleum jelly just applied by a mother’s gentle hand, he swerves left he dips right they can’t touch him he fights to stay on his feet and kicks the ball with laser precision finding the back of the net!” 

He can’t fight his giggle this commentator- quick glance to the bottom of the screen: Ray Hudson has a very colorful vocabulary and he blows any commentator he’s heard out of the water! 

Chuckling at the wonder-filled of his new favorite commentator he almost misses the ringing of his phone and he entertains the idea of ignoring the call to keep on listening to this match, but he hasn’t heard from Aaron since they boarded the plane for Cardiff and he misses his little _croissant (_ he can basically hear Aaron’s discontent grumble in his mind) so he reaches over and answers without checking, “ _Bonjour mon amour_ miss me already?” he flirts waiting for Aaron’s scoff and refusal of the obvious, his Welshman likes to play hard to get (despite already being _his_ ) but honestly who wouldn’t miss him? 

No answers come though, he can hear a slight buzz and breathing that confirms there is someone on the line but they give no answer, “Rambo?” he tries one more time and then the voice that answers is decidedly _not_ his boyfriend. 

“I need your help” the Portuguese voice is easily distinguishable and he’d forgotten that he’d grabbed Cristiano’s phone during their dinner and added his number, it was only natural that men has beautiful as them should stick together- _pretty boys of football_ he’d coined them. 

Now he regrets that impulsive decision he has absolutely nothing to say to the cheating deceitful Portuguese, the audacity he has to call Olivier and demand help as if he is owed anything but a punch in his admittedly handsome face. 

Of course, Olivier would not be the one rearranging said face, he has an extensive skin regimen and bruised knuckles just will not do but he knows people who wouldn’t blink an eye while carrying out the job. 

“Please don’t hang up….I went to Gareth’s house and he’s not there and his bed hasn’t been slept in and he’s not answering his phone, I’m _worried_ does Aaron know where he might be?” 

“You no longer need to worry about Gareth’s well-being, you lost that right when you cheated on him with his very own _team mate_ now do yourself a favor and get off my phone I’m not helping you with anything!” with those biting words he ends the call missing the days of corded phones when one could get the satisfaction of slamming the phone down to express their explosive anger. 

Instead he tries to angrily press the end call button before turning back to his wide screen television, the grinning face of one Cristiano Ronaldo greets him though so he shuts it off before drooping on the couch. 

He feels tired, it requires copious amounts of energy being so angry at someone. 

He hopes he doesn’t gain any wrinkles from the frown that’s etched across his face, frown lines are not sexy. Even on him. 

It’s not until hours later that he drags himself off the satiny pillow that is his couch and enter his spacious kitchen with the intent of making some dinner, he’d planned to make a huge pot of chicken carbonara for himself and his lover but it appears that romantic dinner will now be a solo meal; he misses Aaron wrapped around his waist sneaking food from the pot as he complains despite the fond smile on his face. 

He wonders back onto the couch to enjoy his meal reluctant to sit at the table by himself looking over at the empty seat where a bearded Welshman should be, _he’s never going anywhere without me again this is ridiculous._

Wrapped in Aaron’s favorite snuggie (a present from his mum that Olivier always teases him about) he watches an old Arsenal match now and _doesn’t_ stalk number 16 on the screen, _not_ watching the players every movement and _not_ licking his lips when said player bends over to pick up the ball for a throw-in. His _not_ staring is interrupted by a knock at his door, his head pops up like a curious bunny. 

Not many people know about this apartment, only close friends and family and it’s too late for anyone to be stopping by, 11:56 pm his phone tells him when he checks and he wonders who would stop by at this time. 

His thoughts are interrupted by another round of knocking and with a sigh he forces himself off his couch, _again_ and walks over to the door pulling open the door with a scowl on his face only to meet the hesitant smile of the last person he expected to find, “I need your help" he slams the door shut because if he can't see him then none of this is happening. 

He spins around intending to walk back to his couch, there's no one at the door he must be hallucinating but then that voice calls out again ruining his illusion "I'm still here and I need your help" and he groans out loud, why do bad things happen to beautiful people? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very happy that I get to move away from all the angst I created (though we'll see Gareth soon so the angst might continue for a but longer) I had a bit of fun with this chapter, I love Ray Hudson guys he's hilarious and my spirit animal! Hopefully the death threats for James will stop now lol puppy did bad but he's very sorry :) Sometimes you gotta break things apart to put back together even stronger. I know I freaked a lot of you out with the kiss but I always planned for it to be a moment for both Cristiano and James, but in ways they weren't expecting. A little the grass isn't always greener on the other side. Kudos are welcomed but comments are even better because I love hearing from you all, sometimes you inspire me with you wonderful and insightful comments. Until the next update!


	16. Remendado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You gotta fight for what you want, if you really want it.

The air welcomes him back like a lost puppy that’s strayed too far from mother’s bosom, it’s by no means hot and even if it were the heat of Wales could never compare to the dry flames that linger in the air of streets of Madrid, but it’s the encompassing sense of _comfort_ that greets him; Madrid is many things: new, exotic, more recently _terrifying_ but Wales will always be home.

 _Oh, really don’t they say that home is where the heart is?_ His traitorous mind provides cruelly reminding him of _exactly_ what he’s trying to forget about, the one he ran away from- the reason why being in Madrid is near to torturous at the moment, he’s nursing an open, leaking wound and it needs to be cauterized before he can walk on that pitch and plaster a smile on his face as he undoubtedly watches the man who owns his heart, give his heart to another.

Who the hell truly believed that it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?

He wishes he could induce his own amnesia and wipe Cristiano from his mind, from his _heart_ every beat feels like a hand has gripped the fragile organ and is squeezing it into oblivion. 

The crisp winds of Cardiff knock him out of his thoughts, as if saying “enough already, are ya quite done with the pity party?” and involuntarily a smile drifts to his face, he’s made the right decision in coming home—perhaps he should have informed his mum, lord knows she’ll ring his ears (if they were smaller maybe it would be easier to escape her iron grip) but afterwards she’ll just be his mum and she’ll know that something is array and she’ll force him to talk about it but he expects all that and knowing all this wasn’t enough to deter him from coming.

“----Gare? Are you even listening to me? I’m gonna get our luggage okay?” Aaron’s deep baritone finally penetrates the cloud that smothered his auditory senses and he absentmindedly nods his head, ignoring the ever-present frown lines that mar Aaron’s youthful face—lines that only disappeared when sleep pulled him under its spell on the flight.

He knows Aaron is worried about him, has been since he called and informed him that he was going to Wales and that Aaron and Olivier should enjoy the rest of their vacation in Madrid.

His fellow Welshman had demanded to know why he was leaving (read: running way) and despite his efforts to brush off that notion- he wasn’t running it was just….. taking a _breather-_ Aaron knew him well and wasn’t fooled by his proclamations that he was “fine” and eventually he couldn’t keep it in anymore and he told him _everything_ and Aaron was silent, still, and then he demanded that Gareth book him a ticket too because “there was no way he was going alone, he needed a friend” and if anyone was there to see him; he would tell them there was something in his eyes.

So, here they were too Welsh boys back where they started and the reception they are receiving in the airport is quite, well _embarrassing_ honestly in Madrid commonly if the team is traveling together the attention is divided and most fans are more interested in the more well-known players, he’s the one that gets asked to take pictures of fans and his team mates- James, Isco and….. _another_ being the most requested.

But hardly ever him and he doesn’t mind he’s nothing to scream about, he’s just Gareth but here in Wales, he is far more; more than he ever imagined he could be.

His sudden appearance seems to stun them into silence at first, most stopping whatever they’re doing- making phone calls to family members, mothers collecting wondering children, lovers reuniting- everything _stops._

He tugs his cap lower but it’s the twinkle in the eyes of a young boy in a Real Madrid jersey that affirms what he already knows, he’s been spotted. Then it’s a sea of motion they flood on him like waves on a beach, surrounding him like he’ll escape if they let him out of their sight- “Gareth! Gareth, I love you I’m your biggest fan!” and he didn’t realize so many of his biggest fans were settled in one location and he wonders if they realize that they are all essentially shouting the same things.

He signs everything that is pushed into his face, smiling awkwardly when foreign faces smash against his own and camera flash in his eyes temporarily blinding him until he hears a soft voice struggling to be heard over the cacophony of all his fans.

“Gareth, please let me through I want to see Gareth” the voice pleads but no one seems to hear or if they do hear they simply don’t _care_ and he knows what that feels like, to be overlooked and pushed to the side.

Has felt that first-hand on many occasions, and very recently so he briskly moves past the fans that have stationed themselves around him until he reaches the voice, the very same boy in the pristine white jersey.

The emotion that flashes across his small face is indescribable but awe-stricken is the first word that comes to mind, “Hi you requested me?” and before the syllables can tumble from his lips he has an armful of small child and he chuckles returning the hug, patting him affectionately on his blond head- he reminds him of Toni’s little boy, Leon.

His attempts to dislodge the child are futile and when he stands up at his full length it’s with a body wrapped around his own, “What’s your name?” he asks and doesn’t get a response right away and then a shy voice frantically answers “My name is Franklin Harry Pierson and you are my second favorite player at Real Madrid.”

He chuckles at that revelation but he’s not surprised he’s heard that statement many times in his Madrid career, he knows he has to ask who the boys’ number one is but he already has an idea and he doesn’t want to hear _that_ name.

As he’s debating what to ask now to distract the boy, the decision is taken from him and the same shy voice pipes up again “It’s a very close second though, my favorite player is-“ he steels himself-

"Luka Modric, he has the same color hair as me and he kicks the ball really far and he gets to be your best friend” _oh_ and the blush that covers his round rosy cheeks is absolutely precious and warms the icy perimeter he was instilling around his heart.

Coming home was definitely the right decision.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


“Olá?.......ahh-stop I’m on the phone!” he hears the out of breath of one David Luiz, and drags the phone away from his face because he _knows_ that voice that is decidedly an _I’m having sex voice,_ and he almost hangs up right then and there.

He really doesn’t want to know what David and Thiago get up to in their free time, he’s watched them flirt and tease on the pitch enough to last him a lifetime.

Maybe two lifetimes.

Seriously they flirt _a lot_ it’s disgusting. He’s about to dismiss this conversation and let them get back to doing whatever they’re doing- Sergio’s voice invades his mind with a surreptitious _you mean each other?_ And is it possible for someone to hear a wink in a statement? Because he feels like he can hear the wink in his conjured Sergio’s statement; clearly he’s losing his mind because _what is he even talking about??_

So, yes he’s about to hang up until he hears a voice that is definitely _not_ Thiago, the voice is higher and more… musical; doesn't sound Brazilian at all and his question is answered by David’s breathy laugh and “Stop Edi, it’s Marcelo, ow don’t pull my hair!”

There is what sounds like a struggle, a loud _oomph_ and then more rustling of the sheets—ew—and then an indignant shout and then laughter and then silence.

And more silence.

“Olá Marcelo, brother how are you?” David cheerfully inquires as if he wasn’t just obviously having some kind of wrestling match with his PSG team mate, well clearly they are way more than that but still the nonchalance is so _David_ , he’s a weirdo.

“Are you busy right now? I can call you back” he offers helpfully only to have David scoff off his suggestion and then tell him more information that he needs to know, “No, no brother it’s okay Edi and I were just….. well, having sex but you probably already guessed that but really it’s okay this was like our fourth time just today” and he chokes on air because only David would calmly rely such intimate information as if he’s merely talking about the weather or what he’s watching on TV.

Usually he adores David’s candid ways but he’d hope to get a helping shoulder tonight and advice and he’s not prepared to hear about anyone’s sex life right now. He’s honestly tired of knowing about everyone’s sex life. It just reminds him of his lack of one.

He just needs a friend right now and he can’t call two of his close friends here because they are the very ones that have betrayed him.

Without his permission a long suffering sigh expels from his mouth and just like a switch David flicks on, voice immediately soothing and worried, “Marcelinho, what’s wrong my sunshine? You sound tired, did something happen?

He’s about to answer when he hears his countryman whisper underneath his breathe, “Edi, meu amor could you give me a second? and an exasperated voice responds “Really I would love to but if you haven’t noticed I can’t really move because my hands are tied up and you are _sitting on my back, idiota!”_ A bout of laughter flies from his mouth imagining that, David calmly sitting on someone as he talks on the phone as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Why doesn’t he have any normal friends?

There is more shuffling and whispers, “We are _not_ finished” “I know, I know you can get the Eiffel Tower later meu amor…..ow don’t pull my hair!”

He really has no one to blame but himself of all the people he could have chosen to call for romantic advice he chose this fuzzy-haired goofball. He could just talk to himself in a mirror.

“Celo, are you still there? Is everything okay? Is it the team, is everyone sick with explosive diarrhea and you need someone to come get you before you get the shits too? I can be there I won’t let this shit get you brother” the idiot proclaims as if he is a knight promising to save a damsel from imminent distress.

“No, that’s—what is wrong with you? How do you come up with these things? That’s not even a _little_ bit right. Don’t talk anymore please, I called to get your advice but I know realize that was a mistake” he knows he’s lashing out at David and he doesn’t mean to, he knows humor is David’s way of comforting those he cares about but a small part of him is angry and a little bit bitter because David has Cavani and they’ve had sex _four times_ today and he can’t even get a kiss from James.

But, Cristiano can his best friend who has teased him about his apparent crush on said Colombian but still decided it was a good idea to kiss him despite already having a boyfriend who is crazy about him.

Anyone else would hang up on him and refuse to take this abuse but David isn’t anyone, if he is sunshine then David is a _rainbow:_ a sign of hope after a long storm, something to look forward to and wish upon, bright and dazzling in its random beauty.

Ergo he doesn’t hang up, instead he stays and says “Brother, I’m here. Talk to me” and talk he does, regaling everything; James arrival and his immediate infatuation, its unrequited nature and formation into something deeper than a crush and how he tried to stop himself from making the same mistake he always seemed to make, loving someone who couldn’t love him back but by the time he noticed it was love it was already too late.

He’d fallen down the rabbit hole with no means of escape.

“Then he came to practice with me and thing were _different,_ there was something in the air that wasn’t there before- no it was but never for me. He was looking at me like he was seeing me for the first time and he was flirting back, not just appeasing my obvious flirtations and I thought this was my chance to show him that I could be an option; I’m no Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro but I could love him like he deserves to be loved. But then I found them kissing in the locker room, like they wanted to be found couldn’t care less if there were people who cared about them that would be hurt by this, so damn _selfish_ and I want to hate him, not Cristiano I could never hate him he’s my _hermano_ regardless of his egotistical ways but I can’t hate him David. I wanna hate him and just forget all this but he keeps calling and texting and it’s taking everything in me to ignore him because I still _want him so badly._ ”

A weight has been lifted off his chest after his speech and he feels like he can breathe easier without the heavy burden looming.

David is silent on the other end of the line and be thinks he’s lost him for a second before he hears a sad exhalation and then a sound of comfort, “Brother I never expected all this. I've watched some of your matches and I see how James looks at Cristiano, he’s a sweet boy but he’s still young he looked at me the same way in the World Cup like I was above him, someone untouchable to admire.”

And it hurts to hear that others can see the obvious love that James as for the Portuguese and he feels an inkling of jealousy remembering that famous moment between David and James but he smothers it, James isn’t _his._

"But, the way he looks at you it’s so much more. He doesn’t look at you like you’re untouchable, he looks at you like all he wants to do _is_ to touch you.” With those words he’s left speechless, this is why he called David because despite his affinity for jokes he has this uncanny ability to say the right thing at exactly the right moment.

“Sometimes we want something so badly that it blindsides us from the thing we need” and this admission sounds too personal to just be general advice so he can’t help but ask, “What happened with you and Thiago?” there is a pregnant silence that lingers before he hears a throat clearing and finally David speaks up, “I wanted him and I was tired of the games, of the meaningless flirting so I started flirting with Edi to make him jealous and it worked he was so jealous, he wanted us to be together and we tried it. But I realized he only wanted me when he couldn’t have me, when he thought someone else was going to take me away, he started pulling away from me and I….I just missed Edison and our friendship and the way he wasn’t afraid to show everyone that I was special. Even on the pitch in front of thousands of fans. Thiago loved me but not enough to show the world, not enough for it to matter beyond closed doors. It wasn’t easy but I never gave up because you don’t give up on love, never. Even when it hurts- _especially_ when it hurts. You’re allowed to be angry but don’t let that anger keep you from being happy, if James makes you happy then ignoring him will punish _you_ too. Let him prove to you that he deserves your love.”

Damn, when did his goofball get so wise? He bets it’s from hanging out with Cavani guy, that guy seems so zen and calm like the type who prefers to be barefoot and does yoga.

“Thank you” is all he says as he can’t find the words to adequately express his gratitude but David has given him a lot to think about and that sentence truly perturbs him on many different levels, this is David _Geezer_ Luiz he’s talking about.

He can hear David’s smile through the phone, “No problem brother remember I’m always a phone call away if you need anything. Now I’ve got to go I’ve got an eager fan waiting to see Paris’ main attraction” and his scream of disgust garners pleats of laughter from the other Brazilian who he can hear yelling that “The Eiffel Tower is now ready for showing!”

He may not have any normal friends, but he's not a normal guy and he wouldn't have it any other way.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


He didn’t go to Gareth‘s house until three days later, tired of having conversations with Gareth’s voicemail and sending messages that he knew were being deleted on contact.

He told himself he wanted to give his boy some time to cool off so he could explain what _really_ happened and not the biased crap that Arbeloa implied in the locker room, hinting that he had been cheating on Gareth for a while, that it was more than one ill-adviced kiss but honestly he was just scared. Scared of what Gareth would say, petrified that he would explain exactly what occurred and his boy would tell him it didn’t matter, a kiss was _still_ cheating and he never wanted to see him again and he wanted them to stay broken up.

Because they were still broken up technically, he hadn’t meant anything he said or did that morning in the kitchen but Gareth hadn’t known that because he walked out on him without saying anything and then kissed someone else and avoided his calls because the guilt was killing him, was still killing him. 

He doesn’t deserve Gareth, he knows that. 

Gareth might have pushed him away but he never cheated on him even with Arbeloa making his intentions loud and crystalline clear. But regardless that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t still fight for him because unlike Gareth who never seemed to believe he was good enough for anything, he believed that if something good came to him it was his for the taking, no questions asked he was the ruler of his own destiny. 

When he finally acquired the courage to go to the Welshman’s house and beg for his forgiveness, there was no one there the car was parked in the driveway but the house was quiet and dark and when he opened the door with his emergency key he immediately knew that Gareth was not here. 

He tried calling Gareth but nothing had changed and he received the voicemail, then he tried Aaron thinking that maybe his boy was crashing with him in an attempt to avoid him but that led to the same result: voicemail. For a moment, he’d been hopeless thinking that he would just have to wait for Gareth to seek him out, fearing that by the time that happened it would all be too late. 

Gareth would have fully accepted Arbeloa’s accounts of what occurred and he would have lost his boy, indefinitely. 

His body rejected that conclusion, _he_ was the ruler of his destiny, dammit. 

In an inspired moment, he felt the proverbial light bulb _ping_ over his head _Olivier!_ If he couldn’t reach Aaron maybe he could reach his lover and figure out where his boy had run off to so he dialed Karim because if anyone would have the French pretty boy’s number it would be his fellow National Team member and Benz answered on the third ring, mumbling something about “a trap queen” and he didn’t even _want_ to know so instead he just demanded Olivier’s number. 

Karim didn’t even ask him why he needed the number just mumbles out the digits and he made a mental note to delete his number from his phone, but he thanks him and when Cristiano programmed it into his phone the most unusual thing happened. 

The number brought up an existing contact, _Pretty Boy OG_ and at first he thought it was a joke, set up by Karim himself because OG stands for “original gangster” he’s been taught and only Karim would put that in his phone because sometimes he forgets that he’s white and regardless of his choice in music, is not in fact a gangster but then he looked at the contact name and _aha!_

O.G. Olivier Giroud! 

He rushed out the door knowing he needed to pack he was going to London because while Gareth could run, he wouldn’t let him hide.

It’s surprisingly easy to convince Olivier to let him into his apartment or should he say flat, well if you consider banging on a door for fifteen minutes straight and threatening to post someone’s address online, easy. It’s all about perspective really. 

Olivier is wearing a ridiculous blanket with _sleeves_ but he gets a feeling that questioning his fashion sense is not the right choice right now, so he bites back his criticism and paints on his most charming smile “Olivier, it’s so good to see you again I was in the neighborhood—“ 

“London is in another country” 

“—and I decided that I should stop by and say hello, how are you? How’s your family? Have you seen Gareth or Aaron?” he continues on as if Olivier hadn’t spoken at all smile still sketched on his face and Olivier stares at him with penetrating blue eyes. 

Not Gareth blue. 

“You really hurt him” Olivier cuts straight to the point and his words are sharp as daggers piercing through his skin, it’s nothing he doesn’t know but hearing it out loud makes it feel that much more real. 

“I know. But I want to fix it, I love him” 

“What if that isn’t enough?” 

“Then I’ll keep trying until it is.” 

His answer seems to meet Olivier’s approval because he struts-that’s the only word he can use to describe the walk- over to him and wraps a long arm around his shoulder, “If you hurt him again Aaron will pound your face in until its unrecognizable and I will help him, well I’ll ask Coquellin to help him you’re not worth bruised knuckles.” 

And with those threatening words Olivier is off mumbling that he has to pack and he _just_ unpacked and the things he does for love but the smile on his face lets Cristiano know he’s just as excited to go get his Welshman. 

It’s time to bring his boy home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nice to not be writing angst all the time, that's not to say its over per se but I'm enjoying the break from angst and I bet you all are too :) another couple from my archive has been added just to get the idea out there because I'm telling you Davani is SO real and there should be hundreds of fics already. But enough about the other couples in my ever growing book because this is a Baliano story and I haven't forgotten that at all, so we'll be back on track very soon and princess makes an appearance and we see if love is really enough. And we'll deal with some more aftermath of "The kiss" because this is just a written novela as you know by now :) comments are my favorite ever and kudos are nice too.


	17. Le Arreglo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He has no idea what he's doing but he knows he feels _alive_."

His attempts to dissuade Olivier from joining him on his trip are ignored and in the end he stops fighting because he knows that Gareth is not alone and he will need someone to distract Aaron and allow him to get his Welshman, it’s almost certain that Aaron will do everything in his capacity to intervene once he arrives and he needs all the help he can get.

They take his private plane mostly because he doesn’t want to deal with encountering fans or waiting for flights that are destined for Wales, it’s been long enough already--every second he’s away from his boy is a second too long.

Olivier has fallen victim to the Sandman and is dozing away comfortably beside him but he can’t even fathom sleeping, his mind is too scattered to permit him to reach the state of relaxation required to drift off. With every passing second the miles that separate him and Gareth lessen, it’s like being reunited with a limb you weren’t aware you were even missing. 

Gareth is his phantom limb. 

But—he knows that he won’t be welcomed into waiting arms, he’s done too much damage to receive a reception like that, broken everything with one selfish act. 

_Will he forgive me?_ The question swirls around in his mind making him dizzy as it cycles back and forth like a verbal tornado, he’s just a victim caught in the eye of the storm. There’s no way to know the answer to his inquiry they’ve already been through so much, bouts of jealousy, ever-present insecurities that have loomed over their relationship like a bad storm cloud; drenching them in the downpour and ultimately drowning them. 

_What if love isn’t enough?_

The very same rationality he made as he walked out on the best thing that ever happened to him, he told himself that their love wasn’t enough. What was the _point_ of love if all they did was fight? But now, he sees the errors of his ways, love was war and sometimes there were casualties in war and people got hurt but that didn’t mean you stopped fighting, to stop fighting was to admit defeat. 

There’s no point _of_ love if you aren’t ready to fight for the one you love. 

Just like all other aspects of his life, he’s ready to fight, ready to prove that he’s not a quitter—could never be a quitter when it comes to Gareth, lungs are useless without air to fill them. 

Gareth isn’t faultless in this situation by any means, his boy should have come to him with his concerns and trusted him enough to reveal _all_ of his doubts and fears, should have told him about the text message from James. The young Colombian had been rifled with guilt and revealed his attempts to seduce him away from the Welshman, apologized for his thoughtless message and he’d been so angry at first, positively _burning._

 __Did Gareth truly think so little of their relationship, to presume that he would welcome such advances and go meet James?

He’d been disgusted at that thought, he may be many things but he was no cheater—well he couldn’t attest to that any longer, now that’s exactly what he was. 

_Ay dios,_ if only you could restart life. Nonetheless it’s pointless to wish for the unfeasible wishes so this is it, his second chance and perhaps last chance to show Gareth that they can be more than before, there’s nothing he can do to demolish Gareth’s fears and he knows that now; self-esteem is based on the prefix of the word. 

Self. 

Gareth needs to trust in him and their love and finally himself, he needs to stop listening to the voices in his head that perpetuate mistrust and start listening to _him_ that is up to Gareth, no one can _make_ him believe or believe for him. 

But he also has a very important job, a job that has come easier to him than any job he’s ever had in his life: love his boy unconditionally and ensconce all his doubts, no more walking away unless they are walking away together. 

_'You sound like a damn Hallmark card, are you sure Gareth didn’t take your _cojones_ with him?’ _ The mocking voice of Fabio drifts into his mind interrupting his epiphany and grand moment of self-realization, as rude as usual. ‘ _No they are STILL here and bigger than yours puta, he only took my heart but that was always his for the taking’_ it’s undoubtedly a testament to his fatigue that he hears the repulsed groans of Fabio mentally as if his friend is sitting there right in front of him appalled at his words of ridiculous ardor. 

He feels no shame, he’s ready to turns his words into actions: everyone knows they speak louder and he needs to be heard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He can only remember feeling this angry on the pitch, shadowing in on a referee who has missed a reckless challenge on a team mate or has given him an undeserved yellow card. He is generally an even-tempered guy and such contempt is reserved for those uncontrollable moments, yet he’s overwhelmed with righteous anger as he leaves the locker room tailing a bullet fast moving Gareth, who seems impervious to his shouts to “stop”. 

He feels no satisfaction at being the one to expose such an upsetting secret to Gareth—on the contraire he feels sick to his stomach especially after seeing the gripping look of heartbreak settle over that gorgeous face; electric blue eyes fading until they appeared to be lifeless pools of color. 

Gareth is in his car and driving away before he can do anything but watch on helplessly, he just wants to wrap him up in his arms and never let go. _He’s not yours,_ that’s true but he’s not Cristiano’s either. Not anymore. 

He’s been fighting his attraction all along as a sign of respect for their relationship but _no more_ he won’t stand idly by for one more second, as he watches the car disappear into the distance he promises himself that’s the last time he’ll allow Gareth to get away.

A few days later……..

“I’m leaving” are the first words out of that luscious mouth and he’s momentarily dazed and unable to answer, lost in the curve of that mouth, a mouth he has been fantasizing about for an obscene amount of time. 

When the words register, he finds himself dazed in a whole other sense of the word. 

He’d been surprised at the sudden appearance of Gareth on his door steps but he’d happily welcomed him in, unable to resist dragging him into an embrace; hands grazing skin absentmindedly before he caught himself, _not yet._

He’d been hopeful of what Gareth’s presence implied but now he sees this is merely a goodbye, “Where are you going?” 

“Away, I need to get away for a while but I wanted to let you know because you’ve been such a good friend----“ and he zones out after that _dreaded_ word, friend. 

He doesn’t want to be just friends, he’s finished pretending that he doesn’t want to pull Gareth into his arms and _love him._

As he watches Gareth speak, he realizes he’s never once said those things aloud, he’s alluded to his feelings and touched so often with the hope that his feelings would seep into the boy’s skin without his verbalization. 

Because he’s scared. 

Terrified of being rejected, of being told that his feelings simply aren’t good enough, _he’s_ not good enough. 

But Gareth is leaving and he can’t let him fly way without knowing how he feels, “—I’ll be back in a few days” 

“I love you” he breaths out and the look of shock that eclipses Gareth’s face is _almost_ comical in its exaggeration, pupils are wide and huge and his mouth agape resembling that of a fish. 

It doesn’t discourage him he’s come this far so he soldiers on, “I’ve loved you since I set eyes on you and this may not be the _right_ moment but…--I need you to know because when I close my eyes you’re all I see and I’ll be your friend if that’s my only option but if there’s a chance for something more, I want it, I want you” he crowds into Gareth’s space gently holding his hands. 

Gareth still hasn’t muttered a word, seemingly frozen in space and so he keeps on pushing, he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. 

He steps forward and watches Gareth defensively retreat in response, another step forward results in an identical step backwards and they continue this cat and mouse game until Gareth is pressed against the wall with nowhere else to run. He can feel the sparks that _zing_ off as he brings their bodies in contact, lightly grazing as not to overwhelm the boy. 

“What are you doing?” Gareth breathlessly inquiries unable to meet his piercing gaze and he chuckles smoothly, leaning his head forward until their faces are only a breadth away and his breath hotly rushes over Gareth’s face “What I should have done when I first saw you” Gareth exhales suddenly, eyes darting down to his lips and with those words he closes the miniscule distance between them.

 

Rubbing their noses together.

Confusion clouds Gareth’s expressive countenance and he releases a puff of laughter, “I’m not gonna kiss you while your heart still belongs to him. I don’t want pieces of you Gareth, I want _everything._ I want your laughter, your smiles, your heart, your soul, and your body” he watches that blush travel up that pale skin at his statement hating himself for what he’s about to do, “Go. Go take the time you need. I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

It hurts to step back but he does it allowing Gareth to move past him and walk briskly to the front door, he knows Gareth would have let him kiss him and possibly even more than _just_ kiss but he doesn’t want _that._

To have Gareth under false pretenses. 

Now the ball is in Gareth’s court, figuratively and he must play the waiting game but it’s a game he’s very familiar with and somethings are worth waiting for. 

“Álvaro?” he glances up surprised that the Welshman is still here, he makes a soft sound of acknowledgement and Gareth hesitates before he captures the words he’s looking for, “You really love me don’t you?” his blue eyes are as clear as the Spanish water and he smiles, “More than you’ll ever know” and with one last shared smile Gareth walks out the door. 

He hopes that’s the last time he’ll ever have to watch Gareth walk away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Being back home is familiar and easy in a way that being in Madrid never is, the people here have known him since he was a mere boy kicking a ball around in the road- head bowed in shame when he accidentally broke a window; hiding behind his mum’s leg as he issued a stuttering apology. 

So it goes without saying that he’s immediately at ease around them, his mum does _box_ him on his ears (both!) for not informing her earlier of his arrival but she follows it up with a crushing bear hug and embarrassing mom kisses, the only thing that saves him from complete humiliation is the fact that Aaron receives the same treatment. 

“You’ve grown even _more_ handsome since I last saw you! Your wife is truly a lucky woman if I were twenty years younger…..” she coos flirtatiously and he knows that Aaron is turning an identical shade of red that his cheeks are. “Mum please” he begs pulling his friend from the lioness’ den carrying their bags upstairs after being pulled into a brief one-armed hug from his middle namesake, Frank. 

His father has never been the most affectionate type, but his mother makes up for it tenfold. 

Aaron practically runs into his back trying to escape his mother’s salacious comments and he lightly chuckles enjoying his discomfort a little bit, “Oh hush you! Nothing beats my niece’s crush on you, she has a poster of you on her ceiling and she calls you the Prince of Wales and Real Madrid!” Aaron counters causing him to misstep and almost drop both their travel bags in his shock, “I hope you’re kidding” but the smirk he receives in response does little to ease his fears. 

He leads Aaron to the guest room he’ll be residing in for their short stay before retiring to his boyhood room, almost taken aback by its unchanged state. 

Posters of old heroes- Zizou, Giggs, Di Stefano and _others-_ and he sighs as he sits down on his bed finally allowing himself to think and he feels _heavy,_ like there is an anchor weighing him down where is heart once was. _I left my heart in Madrid_ and he doesn’t want to be thinking that, not at all, not ever again. 

He gave his heart to someone who didn’t want it, who took it and used it and threw it away and moved on without him and he aches, if he could just _forget this all_ then everything could be perfect. He could forget as quickly as _he_ has and be with someone who truly wants him and _only_ him someone like Álva---no it’s not fair to use another to eradicate his pain especially someone who has always been there for him. 

_But I could learn to love him._ His thoughts are interrupted by a sharp knock on his door and he instantly knows that knock, “Come in mum” and seconds later she’s pushing her way into his room looking like she did when she came to tell him that his nan had passed way, gentle but strong all at once- a face he’s seen her wear a many times. 

She sits next to him, their knees knocking her warmth soaking into his skin, her scent so familiar he feels like a young boy again and wishes he were so he would just lay his head in her lap and as if reading his very thoughts she pulls him down; all six feet of him until his head rests in her lap and her fingers rake through his hair. Comfort. “You need a haircut” she whispers like it’s a secret and he chuckles because he’s heard that many times but she speaks it like a command and he knows that he will have a hard time leaving without being forced to get his hair shorn like a wool-heavy sheep. 

“What happened sweetheart?” and just like that he feels his eyes start to prickle with heat- pain, anger and sadness all bursting to the surface. 

“I—I made a mistake” 

“Whatever you did I’m sure that you can fix it and you two can work it out” 

“No… no… being with him _was_ my mistake” and her gasps of shock is loud of the bone silence of the room and he knows he needs to explain further because when he’d last spoken to his mum, everything had been _magical._

She’d been the one to convince him to go to the bar and take what was his, what was no longer his. 

“He kissed someone else and he doesn’t want to be with me anymore and I need time to process that away from _them_ so I came here…… it hurts mum, it _really hurts”_ his voice cracks and the hands ruffling his hair wrap around him in a hold so tight he can feel his ribs protesting the squeeze but he welcomes the pain it helps to distract from the constant throbbing in his chest. 

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” and he feels two years old again as she rocks him back and forth until he slips into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aaron steps back from the door as he hears the sorrow echo through Gareth’s words and he feels hatred like he’s never felt before, how could someone do this to Gareth? 

He stomps back to his designated room and angrily punches a pillow imagining the smug face of a certain Portuguese, until his anger evaporates only to be replaced with resignation, he doesn’t know how Gareth is going to go back and play along those horrible human beings and he wishes he could take him back to England with him, God knows Wenger wouldn’t mind. 

He’s contemplating a possible kidnapping when he hears the ringing of his phone, he digs through his bag until he finds it and a smile forms on his face as he stares back at a picture of him and Olivier FA cup held proudly over both their heads, his goof lasted longer than he expected. 

“Hello?” 

“Aaron, my love. I’ve missed you so dearly” Usually he would brush off Olivier’s dramatic words they’ve only been separated for a few days but he finds that he feels that same desperation he can hear in his lover’s voice, he has missed Olivier _dearly_ as well and for once he says what he means “Me too, I miss you a lot. So much.” 

Pouring all the love he feels into his words and Olivier’s inhalation is enough to let him know it has been accurately expressed. 

The conversation naturally progresses from their shared desire to be reunited, to talks of the coming season and then finally to the reason they are not together right now- Gareth and Cristiano. 

“How…..how is he doing?” 

“He’s devastated, he’s broken and hurt and so _sad_ Ollie and there’s nothing I can do to help, I feel helpless!” 

“You’re doing all that you can, you’re there for him love don’t fault yourself” 

“It’s not _enough_ I wanna take his pain away….I wish I could make it all go away” 

“I’m sorry love none of us have that power….except maybe Cris—“ 

“Don’t! Don’t say _his_ name I want to strangle him, he’s not getting anywhere near Gareth I’ll kill him myself with my bare hands” Olivier grows quiet on the other line, suspiciously so. 

It’s only now that Aaron realizes that he can hear movement in the background as if Olivier is in a car, “Ollie where are you right now? Where are you going?” 

“Umm… well you see I’m kind of..inwalesandwerecomingtoseeyou” It takes a few moments to decode the jumble of words that were just expelled and when he deciphers the meaning he’s elated at first, he’ll have someone to comfort Gareth with him and he has missed Olivier like _mad._ But then he realizes that Olivier said _we’re_ not _I’m_ and that means someone else is there and it can’t freaking be who he thinks it is. 

“Olivier, who is with you? _Answer this very carefully because if I don’t like your answer I will murder you and the will never find your body”_ he threatens (promises) and Olivier’s gulp is enough of an answer for him and he sees red, “Are you fucking crazy??! How could you bring _him_ here?!” he shouts taking back any declarations of love he’s made in the last few minutes, it’s not possible to want to kill someone so badly that you claim to love. 

“I’m not letting him anywhere near Gareth” 

“Aaron, pleas—“ 

“No shut up! I know you’re a romantic and you think that life is just one big love story but it’s _not_ and sometimes people don’t get a happy ending and they have to deal with that, Gareth has to deal with that right now and you bringing the very man who ripped his heart out and left him to drown in his own sea of doubt is not going to help him, so both of you can turn around and go back because you’re not getting anywhere near him.” 

His breath comes out in staggered pants colored with his anger and he has nothing else to say and definitely does not want to hear anymore, finger poised to end the call before he hears another voice “I’m not leaving until I explain myself, you can try to stop me but I’m not going _anywhere_ I love him and he needs to know” and with that the call ends. 

_Fuck,_ he throws his phone across the room abruptly turning and punching the pillow once more.

 

 

 

 

 

No mother wants to see her child suffering and regardless of the fact that her child is a grown man and international football star, Debra feels her heart cracking for her baby—because he will always be her _baby._

He’d looked so young and peaceful laying there, she’d wanted to wrap him up in her arms and never let him go; hide him away where no one could ever hurt him. 

She’s never seem him this hurt, the heartbreak clear in their shared blue eyes. 

She doesn’t understand where it all could have gone wrong, how someone could hurt her sweet boy like this? 

Gareth took a while to warm up to people always had even as a baby, looking around skeptically at new faces as if waiting for them to prove themselves but once he latched on to you that was it. 

And boy had he latched on to Cristiano, she bitterly recalls all the conversations they’ve had about the Portuguese man before they were even…..Gareth has always admired him, idolized him and based his style of play on him and she knows that even know as he’s suffering nothing has changed, those feelings remain. 

Gareth is loyal to a fault, sometimes at his own expense. 

Just like now. 

The sun is breaking over the horizon shooting rays across the sky that transform it into layers of pinks, purples and blues; it’s beautiful truly. A sight to behold. 

Yet, all she can think of as she whisks a bowl of pancakes is about the sudden darkness that has engulfed her boy. When will the sun rise for him? 

Muscle memory leads her through the making of the banana pancakes-Gareth’s favorites, her mind is elsewhere even when the boys wonder downstairs looking like a pack of hungry dogs. Her heart sings when she sees the small smile that etches across Gareth’s face when he sees the stack of pancakes with a healthy plate of bacon and scrambled eggs; food has always been able to cheer him up. 

She grabs plates quickly serving them before the food grows cold, placing Gareth’s down first before serving her husband and Aaron as well before finally making a plate for herself. 

Breakfast is a quiet affair and she keeps an eye on Gareth, noticing Aaron do the same thing both sharing a look of worry before he suddenly stands up, “I’m going out I’ll be back soon” and with those abrupt words he flees the room. She already knows where he is going. 

Aaron moves as if to follow him “No it’s alright it’s best we leave him alone right now” Aaron deflates at her words and before she can offer him some words of assurance she hears a car pull up to the house and curiously goes out to greet their unexpected guests. She’s greeted by a flashy sports car, gleaming in the brilliant rays of the sun that has risen further up the sky, no one around drives cars like these. 

The door opens and out steps, Cristiano Ronaldo. 

His tan skin appears to glows in the natural light, hair perfectly gelled and sunglasses perched on the straight line of his aquiline nose. Aaron reacts before she can even utter a word, the smack of his first colliding with the square jawline loud as a gunshot and she sees another ridiculously good-looking man exit the car and restrain Aaron dodging a punch aimed towards his face as well. 

“I told you to go back, he doesn’t want to see you!” Aaron screams trying to push off the hands of the man holding him back, who appears to tighten his hold whilst whispering sounds indecipherable words into the angry Welshman’s ear until he goes slack and simply loses all his fight. 

She turns back to the Portuguese at the sounds of his groans and witnesses him spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground, ashamed the small shiver of satisfaction that runs through her veins at seeing the man who hurt her son so badly hurting, even if it’s just physically. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call the police and have you escorted from my property?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Swish._ The ball catapults into the net for the fourth time in a row and he runs to retrieve it and sets it up for another free kick, ignoring that his body instinctively mimics the iconic stance of someone’s free kicks. 

_Swish,_ another perfect execution and he should feel a small inkling of pride but he feels nothing and he fears he may never feel anything again. 

He’d felt so foolish waking up with tear streaks on his cheeks, he wasn’t a child anymore he couldn’t cry in his mother’s lap because he couldn’t get what he wanted. 

_Can’t always get what you want_ and in his case that was practically the norm he’d only fooled himself into believing otherwise. 

He sinks into the soft wetness of the grass, wet with the dew from the morning mist and remembers all the early mornings he spent in this very field away from the prying eyes of the older boys who mocked him, running until his lungs burnt and his legs felt numb. 

The only time he felt _alive._ Until he’d met Cristiano. Just being around the Portuguese was enough to get his heart racing, playing next to him was a dream brought to life and he ruined all that by trying to get more when he’d already had more than he deserved. 

He knows now that this is all his fault, Cristiano is _Cristiano_ and it was foolish to think that he could ever be enough for someone like that, and now it’s too late to go back to any semblance of normality. “Get yourself together, he’s over you and it’s time you stopped acting like your world is over. This was bound to happen, just stop. Get over him…… Lord I’m crazy talking to myself now” 

“You don’t have to talk to yourself, I’d listen” and that voice, no. It can’t be, he must have fallen asleep because there’s no plausible explanation for him to be hearing _that_ voice. 

But when he sits up and their eyes meet he knows that no dream could ever be this beautiful, he’s really here. Gazing at him with soft caramel eyes unwavering in their penetrating stare, he feels naked and vulnerable and wants nothing more than to run and never look back but that method hasn't gotten him very far clearly. 

“I love you” and he sits there in silence following the unexpected declaration and the words linger in the air until a gust of wind blows them away into the stratosphere where they belong because _he doesn’t fucking want them._

He feels laughter bubbling in his gut and he’s laughing so hard tears are rushing down his face and he can’t stop shaking and soon the tears aren’t from laughter anymore and he feels a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t _touch_ me!” he can hear the coldness in his own voice and watches Cristiano withdraw his hand with a look of defeat clouding his features and he wishes he could enjoy it. 

“You should go, you shouldn’t have come here. There’s nothing here for you” 

“Yes there is. _You’re_ here” 

“I’m not yours, you don’t own any part of me. Not anymore you gave it all back when you kissed someone else” his words surgically cut through the Portuguese’s bravado and he knows soon he’ll be left alone and he both welcomes and dreads the moment that Cristiano decides he’s not worth fighting for. 

He expects the Portuguese to turn away but instead he stands there calm and unmoving, unnerving in his silence until he finally speaks, “You’re afraid” and he almost chokes on his own breath and he spins around and briskly starts to walk—no, run away he’s not ready for this. 

He feels wetness on his face and when he goes to wipe it away he finds it’s cold and suddenly the heavens open up in a thunderous downpour, soaking him to the bone in a blink of his azure eyes. 

He’s beyond surprised when he feels arms wrap around his waist and catch him in mid-run, those who chase him hardly ever catch him. 

He squirms and wrestles to break free from the grasp but the hold is iron clad. “No. No more running you’re going to stay and you’re going to listen to me” Cristiano shouts as to be heard over the loud rush of water falling from the sky and he fights with renewed strength because he does not want to hear anything the Portuguese has to say. 

He’s manhandled to his back with his arms suspended over his head and he rocks his hips up to gain some leverage only to hear a strangled moan fall from those supple lips and his stomach twists in disgust, “You sick bastard get the hell off me, are you getting off on this?!” 

He immediately ceases the rocking of his hips glaring up at the Portuguese anger leaking from his very pores. 

“No! No, of course not Gareth I’m not _getting off_ on hurting you, I just….I can’t help it I’ve missed you and the way you _feel_ and the way you look undernea—“ Cris never gets to finish that sentence because he knees him very hard and the only sounds that leave the Portuguese’s mouth are those of pain. 

Cris falls to the side in pain, holding his groin and when he get free he tries to make a run for it but a hand grabs his ankle and he falls into a puddle and he’s dragged back. 

“Let. Go. Of. Me” each word is emphasized with a powerful kick of his leg but still he cannot break free, they wildly wrestle in the mud trying to overpower each other until Cris climbs on top of him again using his legs to pin his arms to the side and forcing his head back to center so they are looking into each other’s eyes. 

He continues to struggle but the Portuguese just shushes him placing his cold hands on his cheek and setting his insides on _fire._

“I can’t. I can’t let go of you, I love you, _shhhhh stop._ It didn’t mean anything, I didn’t mean to hurt you I know how stupid this sounds and if I could take it all back I would but I _can’t_ and it’s killing me to see you like this but I can’t imagine my life without you. A life without you isn’t worth imagining” 

_BOOMM!!_

A clash of thunder causes them both to jump and his heart beats loudly in his chest, as powerful as the storm that rages on around them. 

A faint touch flutters across his cheeks and he _wants_ to want to pull away, but he doesn’t. 

He stays. 

Feels fingertips meander to his forehead pressing back his bangs until he can see past the curtain of his wet hair and he sees those haunting eyes again, they almost seem to glow in the new darkness and watch his every move, appraising as his tongue swipes across his lips catching some water. 

He inhales a huge gulp of air only to lose his breath when lips collide into his own, pressing against his in a closed mouthed kiss that scares him more than the thunder had. 

The kiss shocks him like he’s been struck by lightning, the hands that were on his face quickly find his hips and he’s drawn in and their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. He gasps and that’s all the opening Cris needs to dip his tongue in for a taste, the noise he makes causes Gareth’s body to burn despite the chill of the rain. 

What were once languid soft kisses escalate into something frantic, passionate, downright _filthy._

Cris bites at his tongue causing a pleasurable sting, “I love you, I love you, _I love you”_ whispered between kisses, spoken into his mouth and he presses their lips back together to stop the litany of words, he has no idea what he’s doing but he knows he feels _alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired and this happened and I quite like it so hopefully you all do as well. Yes, there's a bit of an undertone of angst and anger and Cris just keeps getting beaten up (Sorry King lol) but it was fun to finally write the boys together again and we'll see that conversation between Mama Bale and Cris next and we'll continue what happens with our dirty boy in the rain because you know I won't leave you guys hanging ;) 
> 
> Oh and I would like to give a special shout out to a reader who counts the days until I update and always has something nice to say about _every_ chapter and just makes writing this so much fun with all their kind words of encouragement, so thank you Go3tzu3s. You're a true gem of a fan and you make me feel like anything I post will be appreciated by at least one person :) but also thank you to anyone who has ever commented, you all make writing this worth while.


	18. Reanudar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go back, back to the beginning.......

Sequestered in the raging storm, his body is laden with cold licks from the downpour and he can almost feel his bones rattling underneath his drenched skin and despite all this none of it compares to having Gareth back in his arms again. The feeling is indescribable.

The Welshman is a force of nature himself, trashing around as if he can’t decide whether he wants to crawl his way into Cristiano or make his ultimate escape but it’s his moans that reveal his true intention. Guttural groans that _vvvibrate_ like static in the air adding on to the electricity that lingers stagnant between them and suffocating like a blanket has been thrown over their heads.

Their kisses are animalistic; mostly Gareth’s doing but he’s not going to complain about anything that is occurring. Not when this is all he has been thinking of since Gareth left, since he walked out of the locker room and seemingly walked away from their relationship. He had started thinking he would never have this again. Their tongues are intertwined in a dirty dance and he groans at each hard bite to his lips, secretly loving this aggressive side of Gareth. 

His brain is going haywire, a litany of thoughts circling in a vicious cycle: _Gareth’s lips, Gareth’s skin, Gareth’s hair, Gareth’s moans, GARETH._

He feels his center of gravity center shifting ever so slightly- tilting until he’s flat on his back with a very wet, panting Gareth straddling his hips and all his thoughts sink into the muddy ground. He feels powerless beneath his boy, his strength being siphoned by how much he wants this and he can't believe that this is really happening. If this is a dream he never wants to wake up.

He would be the first to mock his boy about his recent decision to grow out his hair but seeing him like this towering above with dripping locks stuck to the side of his face, all he can see is an actual God highlighted by the crashing thunder and flash of lightning in the back drop. Gareth is a vengeful God here to punish him and he is _more_ than ready to give repentance.

Gareth opens his cherry-red lips as if to speak but nothing comes out bar a deep exhalation and then those eyes he adores so much close off, like a door has been physically shut in his face and to his surprise he’s drawn back into another kiss.

A soft kiss, a gentle brush of lips and it breaks his heart because he knows subconsciously Gareth is saying _I’m sorry_ and he has absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Though their lips are locked in an intimate dance of tongue and teeth, their bodies are distanced and he wonders if this is intentional?

A means of placing space between them, emotionally. Gareth has always been good at keeping a bit of distance between them never quite giving himself over fully.

But now he doesn’t want Gareth to have any escape from him, he wants to wrap him up in his arms and drown him in love; love that he can feel leaking from his pores. So slowly has if approaching a cornered wild animal he brings his arms up, twining them around a tight waist rubbing up-down-up until he feels Gareth _melting_ like putty in his arms.

Muscle memory leads them down a path they are both more than familiar with, him leading and Gareth following.

When he presses down on the hips encased in his hands, he feels them easily bending and moving to his will until they are grinding against each other like cats in heat. He tells himself to slow down, “ _calma calma”_ but having Gareth so submissive under his hands has always been intoxicating, he feels drunk off the power. 

Dual moans fill the air as their erections meet, “Fuck” he can’t help his desperate exclamation rocking up harder- hard enough to cause his boy to _bounce_ in his lap.

Immediately his brain supplies images of just that, Gareth in the throes of passion bouncing hard and fast on his----

"This was all we were ever good at” and just like that his arousal is doused in a bucket of cold water: colder even than the rain that has been soaking them.

He’s doing exactly what he promised he wouldn’t.

Feeding perfectly into Gareth’s insecurities, “ _He called me that night after your….disagreement in the locker room, ready to quit and accept that you were just too good for him. If you told him you wanted to be with that Colombian boy he would find a way to be happy for you, even if I broke his heart._ _For as long as I can remember you have always been it for him, the sun, the moon, and the stars. So what I’m truly saying Cristiano, as a mother who is tired of seeing her boy cry I want you to be certain that this- Gareth, is what you want. If you’re not sure with every fiber of your being then leave him alone. Set him free. Let him find someone who won’t leave when things get messy, love like football is bound to get messy but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful or worthy of fighting for. Are you willing to fight for my son? Gareth is used to people leaving and losing you might hurt a bit longer than the others but all wounds eventually heal, just give him a chance to heal.”_

He’d stood there frozen under her icy blue gaze, so similar to the ones he had been missing, vaguely overhearing Aaron and Olivier in the background, “He already made his choice, he chose to cheat he doesn’t get a redo, this isn’t fucking FIFA!” “Aaron you know that love isn’t that simple, you have to let Gareth make his own choice. Cristiano made a mistake he _is_ human don’t let your anger blind you from----”

And they continued to argue back and forth but he could care less what either of them thought, the only person whose opinion mattered was not here and he needed to get him back.

With no hesitation he’d answered, “I’m certain" and she'd looked at him with searching eyes that stripped him bare, boring into his very soul and once she seemed to have found her answer she let a small- blink-and -you-miss-it-smile cross her face before answering, "There's an old field where he used to practice....." 

And now he’s here doing what they always do, cheapening their relationship to simply sex.

There is so much about the winger that he loves, absolutely adores and his boy seems to be completely unaware because he’s never said those things out loud.

He’s been hurt before by lovers that took advantage of his uncontrollable passion; his tendency to give his whole heart before the other person has even given a fraction but those past failed relationships don’t compare to what he has with Gareth. Every time they’ve had a disagreement it’s been solved (that is barely the correct verb admittedly) with a rump in the bed- or wall, or floor whatever was closest.

This has led Gareth to believe that is all he’s interested in but _boy_ is he wrong, he would go celibate (his penis winces) if that would prove to Gareth that what he feels for him is real.

He watches Gareth sinuously gyrate on top of him and it’s deliciously tempting to let this continue but he also sees how guarded off his eyes are and they have always been the windows to his soul and right now all he’s getting is unbridled _hurt_.

“You’ve never believed in us, have you?”- his words like lightning freezing Gareth in place, his hips stall and his lips open into a perfect “O” and it’s clear that he had not expected to be confronted like this.

“You blame James for our relationship falling apar—“

“No, I blame you!” but Cristiano continues as if he was not interrupted, on a roll now shifting up into a sitting position placing them: eye to eye the air around them positively buzzing from their intense gazes.

“It’s so easy for you to be angry isn’t it? Much easier than actually trying to have a conversation with me, _actually_ trying to make this work. You claim you love me but this whole relationship has felt like a game of tag and I’m always chasing after you trying to prove that what I feel for you is real, and it _is real_ but nothing I say or do is good enough to make you believe that.

I cheated.

I know that, James kissed me and I didn’t stop him and that’s just as guilty as initiating the kiss but you….. you never fight for me Gareth. Every time there is an obstacle you run away and I’m just left standing there alone and that doesn’t give me the right to cheat, lord I know that but I just didn’t know what to do anymore. I love you _so much_ but every time you run I start asking myself if you truly want to be with me or if you’re just that same boy who just sees Cristiano Ronaldo the brand and not the person……”

He's never heard himself sound so despondent, his heart is a deflated balloon desperate for the breath of life that only Gareth can provide.

He watches the array of emotion that flight across that ever- expressive face, anger melting into guilt tinged with sadness and he wishes that he could be the source of happiness always, but just not the hand they’ve been dealt lately but he is determined to change that very soon.

Gareth takes a moment to gather himself, climbing off his lap until they are sitting side by side shoulders lightly brushing and it’s reminiscent of their past training sessions he can almost hear the voices of their team mates as they tease them about their inability to stay away from each other.

Despite the torrential storm when Gareth speaks it’s as if time as stopped allowing him to catch his every word, “I knew he wanted you from the beginning. That night that we did…..what we did, he texted you and I opened it and he was talking about the obvious attraction you both have for each other.”

The confusion must read on his face because Gareth sighs and reluctantly continues, “I accidentally deleted the text, I planned to tell you about it in the morning- Aaron told me I had to I had no right to read your personal messages no matter what they said but I was so _scared._ You’re right I’m just a coward and you left before I could tell you but…. It must have been fated because you two _still_ found your way to each other, ironic no?”

Gareth ends his revelation with a bitter laugh and suddenly everything is shown in a new light, Gareth’s desperation that night the way he clung to him like he would never see him again, hold him again, _love_ him again. One glance at Gareth informs him that the Welshman is waiting for a fight, patiently waiting for him to explode and for them to fall back into old habits. A vicious cycle of fighting and fucking each other to avoiding discussing their problems. 

He never realized how _toxic_ their relationship was built on sand that sifts between their feet with every obstacle that is thrown their way and he knows exactly what he needs to do.

They started backwards jumping in with both feet before checking what they were jumping into and it’s time for that to stop. His eyes are wide open now. They've both made mistakes but he refuses to believe that it's too late for them to fix this, it's time to go back to the beginning apologies are pointless at this stage: only actions count.

He reaches across the small distance separating them and grasps Gareth’s chilled hand causing him to look up with confused blue pools and he says, “Hi, I’m Cristiano would you like to go on a date with me?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aaron cannot remember being this angry at Olivier in a long while and it’s unsettling to deal with now but simply thinking of Cristiano gets his blood burning and then he remembers that Olivier _betrayed_ him and all he can see is Arsenal red.

He’d locked himself in his room following Cristiano’s departure and Olivier has been pleading with him to open the door for—a quick glance at his watch—the past 15 minutes.

“Aaron, baby I’m sorry! Please let me in I can explain, I know you’re angry that I brought Cristiano here but I did it for Gareth” and that gets him moving as fast as Theo when he’s making a trek down the pitch and he’s greeted by Olivier’s wide-eyed gaze when he yanks the door open.

“Don’t you _dare_ say you did this for Gareth, you did this for yourself. You think life is a movie and everyone gets a happy ending well you know what maybe Gareth’s happy ending is Cristiano leaving him alone and giving him the chance to be with someone who really cares about him. Someone who doesn’t drop him at the sight of another cute face!” he shouts in his lover’s face wishing Olivier could see how stupid what he did was, Gareth is too weak to say no to Cristiano right now and he needs to say no because he deserves better someone like……..

“Aaron I don’t think life is a movie I know what Cristiano did was wrong but you didn’t see him on my doorstep, he was a broken man and he made a mistake but that shouldn’t define their entire relationship. He deserves a chance to make this right, Gareth deserves that too. You’re angry right now but you’ll see that I did what was best for both of them, they need each other to be happy just like you and me”

Olivier looks at him with a gaze of unyielding admiration that usually would make his heart skip a beat and his body heat up but in this moment it does nothing but throw fuel on the fire blazing inside of him.

“Honestly if you weren’t our main striker I would pull your legs out and beat you with them, what you did was stupid and I hope you booked a hotel because you are _not_ staying here with me if you care for your safety.”

He hates seeing the hurt that blossoms in Olivier’s pure blue eyes but anger has taken over and he can’t control the words that leave his mouth anymore.

“I think you should leave” the demand behind his statement is evident and Olivier holds his gaze before nodding and turning to leave looking so much like a kicked puppy that he almost stops him.

Almost.

He sits back down on the bed and takes a deep breath knowing he’s gonna have to apologize to Olivier later what he said was uncalled for regardless of his anger, the anger he can feel slowly dissipating the longer he sits there by himself.

 

Quiet solitude continues until he hears voices speaking, masculine voices and he runs down wondering if Gareth has finally returned.

When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, Olivier makes quick strides over to him questions etched into his handsome face and a glance behind him reveals why.

Standing in the doorway cool as can be is Álvaro Arbeloa, sunglasses covering his dark eyes but the hard set of his lips make it clear he means business.

“I called him and told him that Gareth needed him, unlike you I actually care about Gareth’s happiness and it’s time we show him that he has other options, better options.” Olivier isn’t the only one who can play dirty, this is his last resort and he’s confident he has made the right call now he just needs to show Gareth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIIII EVERYONE <3
> 
> It's been a while and for that I apologize my loves but I'm back and I'm not giving up on this love story! 
> 
> Sorry about the shortness of his chapter but I will be updating very soon and this chapter is to simply plant the seeds of my future plans :) Cristiano wants to start over and do things right but will Gareth be able to look past the kiss?  
> Should he even give the Portuguese another chance? 
> 
> And Aaron, well he has his own plans and he's not letting anyone get in his way. Can Arbeloa finally take Gareth away from Cris? Are Ollie's legs safe??? So many questions! Until next time (expect an update within the week I've started next chapter already and it will be longer than this and hopefully answer any questions you may have) I'm so happy to be back!!


	19. Esperanza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But I don't wanna love nobody else......"

 

 

The contrasting emotions displayed on the faces of the Arsenal teammates is staggering, the fair haired man who lured him here is clearly relieved at his arrival while the tall Frenchman’s countenance resembles that of one who has just sucked on a lemon- _sour face._

Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on one's outlook on life) his skin has been sufficiently thickened by the lesser enthused Real Madrid fans who call for his removal from the team time and time again so now he merely smiles in the face of adversity, he has faced worst and he hardly reacts to receptions that openly hostile any longer. He considers it a sign of maturity.

Or perhaps insanity, it’s difficult to decipher the difference these days.

He makes his way over to the other Welshman, hand outreached for a handshake and is surprised to be drawn into a quick clasp of a hug accidentally locking eyes with the unamused Frenchman once more.

He is clearly _not_ making a good first impression but he hasn’t actually _done_ anything to justify the way he’s being treated.

Thankfully Aaron is the first to break the uncomfortable silence that surfaced with his arrival, “I don’t think we’ve ever formally met but I’ve heard nothing but good things from Gareth I’m Aaron Ramsey” and he has so many questions to pose but that statement has him feeling warm inside and he can’t fight the smile that slides across his face.

Gareth has spoken about him. To his friends. Good things.

He’s a bit taken a back but recalls his manners and replies “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you too, Álvaro Arbeloa but you already know that seeing as you asked me to be here. I’m very curious about that as well you didn’t say much when we spoke just that Gareth needed me. For what exactly, is he hurt?”

Worry laces every decibel of his words and he remembers the fear that wrecked him when he first received that message from Aaron.

He’d been watching Game of Thrones as he was wont to do when he was bored and trying to take his mind off Gareth and the fact that he hadn’t heard from him since he left, knowing that he couldn’t contact him because Gareth needed space right now to get his head straight.

Despite knowing all that it was still killing him knowing that he would have to leave the beautiful boy alone until he was ready to speak to him and maybe, _maybe_ address his feelings. He’d told himself not to hope too strongly Gareth wasn’t his yet but the possibility was enough to make him heady. The way Gareth had looked at him with those crystal water eyes as if seeing him for the first time “ _You really love me don’t you?”_ if only the boy knew how much he loved him.

How deeply his heart ached for him all the time, made more bittersweet by his past acceptance that this attracted would never be reciprocated. But that look and those words had given him new hope and it was near impossible for him not to imagine more impossible things, like Gareth returning his feelings and leaving Cristiano and choosing to be with him. He’d woken up from so many dreams featuring that very fantasy he was elated every night as his head hit the pillow, anticipating the dream and the perfect world it depicted.

It was on a lazy Saturday afternoon that his phone rang and an unidentified number flashed across the screen, elementarily he thought (read: hoped) it might be Gareth calling to finally discuss their future and he all but jumped to retrieve his phone.

Upon answering it and hearing a deep voice a bit too deep to belong to Gareth he quickly assessed it wasn’t him, the voice did however contain that distinct similar Welsh accent but he knew that particular voice too well to ever confuse it with another.

It was Gareth’s national team member and close friend, Aaron Ramsey and before he could even open his mouth to verbalize the questions that were on his mind- “why are you calling me?”, “is Gareth okay?” and “how did you get my number?”- he heard three eclipsing words that utterly stunned him through the phone. “Gareth needs you.”

It was said solemnly and matter of fact and it burnt him down into ashes and that’s all that was said before the line disconnected.

He’d stood there frozen like a victim of Medusa, stone still and flabbergasted.

Now he’s here in Wales, standing in Gareth’s childhood home glancing around at all the adorable pictures that depict Gareth at different ages, with ever changing hairstyles but a football is the constant in all the pictures; held loving in a hand with a matching toothy grin or placed at his foot ready to be mobilized. He can feel his already overinflated ardor of Gareth growing even larger.

_Ay dios._

“Every time I turn around there are more handsome men in my house, if only I could have had these sorts of problem when I was younger and single ” a teasing feminine voice carries into the room and he spins around so quickly he can feel the tinge of pain in his neck. There stands a woman he’s only ever seen in pictures and her resemblance to Gareth is far from obvious until- blue, bluer than the sky eyes greet you.

Once again it’s Aaron who disturbs the silence that has smothered the room following her flirtatious statement (and he’s shocked that this sassy lady is related to his _shy_ boy), “Mrs…--“ “Don’t start with that misses nonsense, call me Debbie.” “Sorry” he immediately apologizes and the sheepish look on his face makes it clear this is an argument they’ve had many times.

“Debbie this is Álvaro Arbeloa he's a very good friend of Gareth's and I invited him here. I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous but I felt that he was exactly what Gareth needed right now with everything that has been going on” and again he’s delighted by the matter of fact way that Aaron says this, _did Gareth tell him he needed him?!_

Aaron’s words equally shock Gareth’s mother who turns to look at him and he feels as if he’s under a microscope with the intensity of her gaze.

He fidgets under her laser point stare but doesn’t break eye contact until she relaxes and simply smiles at him as if they’ve shared a joke; he’s definitely missing the punch-line.

Olivier seems to be having a hard time breathing in his corner and honestly he’d forgotten the French pretty boy was still here, Aaron has yet to acknowledge his presence as well. No introductions seem to be coming.

“Aaron what are you doing?” Olivier frantically inquiries finally lets his voice be heard; dripping with disbelief and shock and Aaron sneers in response before snidely replying, “I already told you that you need to leave don’t make things worst between us.” The apparent hurt that Aaron’s words cause is so strong that Álvaro, himself feels sorry for the crestfallen striker but before he can offer any sort of sympathy, he feels strong hands wrap around his wrist pulling him away and Aaron calmly states, “Come with me we’ve got lots to discuss” and he has no choice but to follow and hope to get some more answers on why exactly Gareth _needs_ him.

He has never wanted _anything_ more than to be needed by Gareth Frank Bale.

 

~~**~~**~~**~~**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What if he had gone out with the team to celebrate? Rejected Cristiano’s offer to come home with him and never crossed that invisible line they’d drawn in the sand, the line that allowed flirting and innuendos but stopped just on the cusp of taking action.

Would things be better than they were now or was this all inevitable? Were they destined to come together only to break apart and if so, who would be cruel enough to sentence them to that? He imagines a world in which he didn’t take the very thing he wanted most in this world and he turned Cris’ offer down and they’d remained just friends, nothing more nothing less and it seems simple and _easy_ in a way things can ever be now.

But then…… he imagines watching James joining with his eager puppy-dog eyes and he watches himself watch Cristiano and James together, teasing and flirty with nothing to discourage them from their evident attraction and that cuts him to his very core. There is no situation where this isn’t the outcome: destined to fail.

Start over.

That’s what Cristiano is offering as if they can simply grab a hold of time and pull it back with both hands, force it to bend to their will as if anything has ever been that effortless for them. Their entire relationship feels like a battle to stay out of relegation, each time they think they’ve fought their way out they are dragged back down and he’s so _bone tired._

The rain continues to pound down on his shoulders furthering the weight he already feels and against his better judgment he looks up and meets the steady gaze of Cristiano Ronaldo. The look of determination residing on his face is one Gareth has seen one too many times as he steps up to take--and regularly make a penalty. He can feel his resolve melting away like ice cream on a warm Madrid day.

“We can’t just start over the damage has been done. “ He attempts to burst Cristiano’s ridiculous bubble before his optimism can start to infect him as well, he’s had enough wishful thinking to last him a lifetime—it’s the foundation of their entire relationship.

Except, Cristiano doesn’t appear to be affected by his words at least not negatively judging by the smile that lights up his (handsome, so damn handsome) face and his traitorous hearts does a somersault in his chest and _dammit_ why won’t Cristiano just let him go?

“Because every time you run away from me you look back waiting for me to give chase, you still haven’t accepted that this is real-that my feelings for you are _real_ so you keep running to see if I’ll follow and if I don’t you can say that you were right all along. You’re scared Gareth but you’re no coward. You want to protect your heart, I just want to show you that you never have to protect it from _me._ ” 

His brain goes offline for a moment, not comprehending that he asked his question aloud and then Cristiano analyzed his irrational fear so concisely that he worries the Portuguese man can read his mind, he _does_ keep pushing to see how much longer before Cristiano finally decides he’s not worth the hassle and moves on. They are sitting in the rain on his childhood pitch in Wales.

_You flew thousands of miles ago and he still chased you; he keeps chasing you no matter where you go. You could keep running…… or you can stop and give yourself a chance to be happy. Run to him. Run with him._

For once his subconscious is not any member of the Real Madrid or Wales national team, it’s just him; the rational part of his brain he never listens to, the part that seems to take his heart into consideration.

His heart is an incongruous romantic.

Yet, before he can throw caution to the wind there’s something he has to get off his chest and it might create an uncomfortable atmosphere for them both but he _needs_ to know. The question that has been plaguing his mind since his heart was ripped out on that locker room. He doesn't want to know but he _has_ to know before they can make any steps to move past any of this.

“What was it like to kiss Ja—him?” he whispers stuttering on the name before deciding to forgo it all together it’s obvious who he’s speaking about. The only other person who has had the fortune to lock lips with Cristiano.

Regret and pain reflect in those cinnamon warm eyes but he doesn’t want pity he just wants answers, so he poses the question again but in a more….scandalous way; “Did you enjoy kissing him?” and the sharp intake of breath lets him know that Cristiano was _not_ expecting this line of questioning. The rain has let up finally as if the whole world is waiting abated breath for Cristiano to respond.

The wait is shorter than expected as those sensual pink lips open and his deep voice rumbles free, “Nothing like kissing you” he begins to elaborate before Gareth can demand more of an explanation, obviously it's not like kissing him because the idiot had kissed someone _else_.

“It wasn’t mutual he _kissed_ me and I let it happen and once it was over all I could think was that I’d just ruined the best thing has ever happened to me excluding Junior.” The mention of Junior reminds him of those wondrous days spent isolated from the world, acting like the family they could be and it unleashes an uncontrollable wave of _want_ Inside of him.

He wants to throw himself into his (ex?) lovers arms and lament his love for him but there is still something holding him back and Cristiano must see the uncertainty written in his eyes because he reaches across to squeeze his hands before standing up, towering over him now: forever larger than life.

“You look cold let’s get you back to your house so you can get out of these wet clothes” he suggests with a quick dart down Gareth's body and they both ignore the heat that rises in both their bodies at the suggestion of undressing, images of their previously wet bodies grinding and undulating flashing through their minds. It’s been a long _long_ time and they are both on the edge.

Cristiano offers him a hand up which he takes without hesitation squeaking a bit when he’s pulled with such force that it catapults him face first into a hard chest, instinctively he inhales a huge whiff of that familiar cologne only pulling back when he feels the chest shaking with laughter. Embarrassment stains his cheeks red and slips around the Portuguese before he can tease him further, he needs to keep his libido in check.

 

 

 

The trek back to his house is traveled in silence but to both their surprise it’s not awkward or uncomfortable in the slightest, Cristiano seems content to take in the scenery and appears to be moderately impressed with the vast amount of hills and small mountains and he just _knows_ the Portuguese is already planning to climb as many of them as he can.

The sun has also made a sudden reappearance following the storm and it beats down on them as they languidly walk back to his house, Cristiano a half step behind him to follow his steps he presumes. It’s not until they arrive at the fork in the road that divides and leads to his house that the sun retracts once more, leaving them in slight darkness and he can’t stop the feeling of dread that surges in his blood.

Viciously shoving aside his trepidation he picks up his speed and then he’s at the door and he doesn’t know what the plan is, does Cristiano want to come inside? Does he want Cristiano to come inside? They’ve both said their peace and now he needs a moment—alone to ruminate everything that has occurred, he’s about to turn and vocalize his desires when the door bursts open and he’s face to face with the last person he was expecting to see.

Rough hands gently grasp his head and he has lost his voice somewhere between the doormat and the doorway, he doesn’t have a chance to do much else before there are lips on his lips. He’s being kissed within an inch of his life.

“Get your fucking _dirty_ hands off of him!” oh, yes Cristiano is right behind him. He’s dragged away from the wandering hands (oh- so close to his bum!) and he watches helplessly as Cristiano steps up looking like murder is the _nicest_ thing on his mind.

 

 

He wonders if it’s too late to accept that offer to start over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I did it again! So not as long as you all might have hoped but I just wanted to write and this was the result hopefully you enjoy it anyway! So.... um there's drama but it's me so that's the equivalent of saying water is wet :D I've missed some of our adorable Real Madrid players so we shall see what they've been up too soon and of course we'll see the aftermath of this chapter but I'm not sure what will come first lol I do so love keeping you all in suspense. Have I mentioned I'm really happy to be back??!!
> 
> **I made cover art for the story nothing special just editing on my tablet but I had a lot of fun**


	20. Lucha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is he doing here?"

His nerves are absolutely wrecked as he stares down at the luminescent screen of his iPhone, finger hovering above the green call button, the contact staring back at him: _Mi Bello Celo,_ a name he’d blushed at when he first entered in but it was far too fitting for him not to write Marcelo simply _was_ one of the most beautiful people he’d ever met.

He’s as nervous as he was in the locker room before he was presented to thousands of Madridistas in the greatest stadium in the world, his heart beats erratically in his chest rattling against his ribcage.

He has not spoken to the energetic Brazilian since the _incident_ in the locker room, the broken look of betrayal on Marcelo’s face still haunts him and ultimately makes him put his phone down with a full body sigh.

He’s terrified.

Positively wrecked at the thought of calling the Brazilian and hearing the hurt in his voice, _how can I fix this?_ He simply has no plausible solution to this question, calling does not seem adequate and he knows this is something he must do face-to-face but that; _that_ is beyond terrifying.

He can continue to do nothing he knows Marcelo is not one to hold grudges, he gives his smiles away easily like the sun giving away its rays and warming the earth and once they are back on the pitch Marcelo will put this in the back of his mind and they will go back to normal.

Perhaps with less easy touches and comfortable affections but Marcelo will not allow this to affect them on the pitch but he doesn’t want _normal,_ he wants everything--all of Marcelo all the time.

Wants to drown in the sea of love that naturally oozes from Marcelo’s pores.

_Want, want, want_ pulsating through his veins yet he’s still unable to do what needs to be done, he feels defeated and utterly frustrated with his inaction.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he misses the musical tone of his doorbell and when he opens his eyes after closing them in resignation he’s greeted by the most _beautiful sight._

For a moment he believes that he’s hallucinating because there is no plausible way that Marcelo would voluntarily enter his house, not after everything he has done.

He blinks rapidly in disbelief, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost Jamesinho” Marcelo’s voice is music to his ears and he can’t help the smidgen of a smile that slides on to his face despite the memory of the last time those words where uttered.

“What are you doing here?” he stupidly replies and immediately regrets his words when he sees the effect they have on the Brazilian, his body tenses and he looks as if he’s seconds way from turning around and walking away, leaving him forever and _no_ , no he can’t allow that to occur.

He’s up and crossing the small distance that separates them before his mind makes the conscious decision, standing face-to-face to Marcelo is just as nerve wrecking as he expected but for a completely different reason than he had assumed.

Now that they are standing so close, mere inches dividing them all he can think of is closing that gap and _tasting_ but he controls himself knowing that he does not have clearance for such an audacious move.

The last time he kissed someone without their explicit permission he ended up with a room full of angry teammates.

“I can’t believe you’re here I was—“ suddenly there are fingers placed on his lips and he swallows the rest of his sentence and possibly his tongue, “Shhhh I need to get this off my chest and then you can tell me how you feel si?” he nods along numbly lips tingling from the light barely-there pressure of Marcelo’s fingers.

Marcelo seems to center himself before circling around him and comfortably sitting on the couch as if he belongs there and all the times they’ve spent on that couch flashed through his mind like a slideshow-countless hours of FIFA and easy jokes, playful touches to distract the other from scoring and intimate conversations about their dreams, fears and ambitions.

He’s never been so scared to lose someone in his life.

Anticipation builds the longer Marcelo remains silent and he feels as if he’s on the pitch during a goal-less match watching the seconds tick away, “I’m not angry at you” those are the last words he expects to hear and he feels hope growing in the pit of his stomach, “I’m just disappointed that you turned out to be like everyone else” and with those words his hope shrivels up as if it was never there to begin with.

“I thought you understood me better than anyone has in a long time from the moment I met you I thought we had something special, I know that I joke around a lot and it’s hard to take me seriously but I’ve always been honest with you and I thought if I could just show you that I was perfect for you, you would forget about everyone else but I’m not enough am I? Not compared to someone like Cristiano and it’s not your fault that you don’t feel the same way about me, I don’t want you to feel guilty about that. You don’t _owe_ me anything—“ and he feels his voice return to him as Marcelo sits there, vulnerable and heart laid bare and a surge of confidence wafts over him.

Without a moment’s hesitation he grabs that beautiful curly head and pulls that Brazilian into a passionate kiss, a declarative kiss pouring every inch of himself into this kiss but he notices instantly that this is another unreciprocated kiss and he pulls back like he’s been stung, feeling embarrassed by his candor.

“Love is like a switch for you isn’t it? You flick it on and off as you see fit” Marcelo rasps in a condescending tone and he feels his cheeks burn in shame, he has never seen this cruel vindictive version of Marcelo and it breaks his heart to know that he has caused this.

“I didn’t come here to change your mind or make you feel like you have to do what you think I want, do you think I want your pity James? That I’m so pathetic and desperate that you have to pretend to feel the same way I do? You _don’t_ love me James if Cris came back right now you would forget about me without a second thought” he says this as if it is a fact and he’s so tired of these games, tired of Marcelo claiming he isn’t angry only to lash out and cut him with his words and he immediately knows what’s happening here.

Marcelo is just as scared as he is.

_He wants to hurt me like I’ve hurt him,_ and that thought soothes his anger because he deserves this but that doesn’t mean that Marcelo deserves to go on thinking he doesn’t care so he mentally shakes himself off, maybe sometimes words are necessary when actions fail.

“I’m not perfect I’ve made mistakes, so many mistakes and I’m so sorry for hurting you Marcelo” he bends at the knee to bring them eye to eye needing Marcelo to _feel_ his words, “I didn’t know how you felt and you didn’t tell me and I just _didn’t_ know, how could I? Cristiano was a boyhood dream; something unattainable to pursue but if I had known having you was a possibility I would have grabbed you with both hands but you didn’t give me a chance, you wrote me off before even trying and now you’re trying to push me away because you’re scared but I’m not going to let you go, _ever._ You care about me Marcelo and I care about you and there is no reason that we shouldn’t be together, you’re not my second choice. This has nothing to do with Cristiano, this is about me and you and everything we could be, everything I want us to be. Will you give me a chance? Will you let me show you just how much you mean to me?”

With held breath he watches the rush of emotions that dance across Marcelo’s expressive face- shock, disbelief, _hope:_ just a glimmer but strong enough to lift the tension that has permeated the room.

He feels frozen in the hold of Marcelo’s dark hypnotic eyes and he resists the urge to turn away, leaving himself bare for the Brazilian; there can be no secrets if they hope to have any relationship.

When the staring continues with no foreseeable end he begins to feel a bit of anxiety, what exactly is Marcelo looking for? “I……I don’t know what to _do_ with any of this? I just came here to see if we could salvage our friendship and now you’re saying everything I want to hear, but… it’s not the same because you’ve kissed Cris and I just don’t know Jamesito” the quick defeat that Marcelo breaths his name with is aching and he wants to keep pushing, fighting, _breaking_ down the fortress the Brazilian has built around himself, but he knows he can’t.

It’s not fair.

It wasn’t intentional but he hurt Marcelo and now nothing can ever be the same. A crack in a mirror, miniscule at first but spreading faster than the eye can track until it expands across the surface and leaves a broken trail in its wake.

“I need to go” his blood screams _no!_ but he’s said all he can say and as he watches Marcelo stand up, the confusion is evident on his countenance. _I need to give him time and space,_ he nods in acquiesce and slowly steps back and watching Marcelo leave again is just as painful as it was following the kiss fiasco, he prays this will be one of the last times he has to witness this. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough for a third time.

The door opens and just as suddenly closes, all is silent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His thick hair cushions his head from the blow it would have been dealt with how powerfully he slams his head into the door in frustration. Frustrated at James, Cristiano (it’s his fault for looking so damn good, freaking _maquina!),_ but mostly himself and his inability to take what James is offering.

Those words echo like a recording in his mind, ‘ _I care about you Marcelo’_ and he can’t help the smile that trespasses and takes form on his lips; unconsciously his fingers drift to said lips and he gently touches them and remembers the soft press of James’ lips on his own and suddenly he can’t move fast enough, he slams the door back open and finds the Colombian: sitting down on the very couch he’d just left, head downturn and shoulders slumped over in a universal sign of resignation.

The door slamming announces his entrance and James immediately looks up, eyes wet and glossy and he feels something grip his heart through his chest; how could he ever think to leave this?

“You came back” James gasps out as if he simply can't believe his eyes and he closes the vast distance of the living room in no time at all--but every second part feels like forever.

"Kiss me again" he whispers watching the words fill the tight space separating their bodies, those soft doe eyes widen at his words; his _command_.

Then he's being kissed.

Kissed so tenderly--soft grasping lips and a swirl of wet tongues and he groans at the sneaky hands that _sinkkk_ into his wild curls and there is nothing but this moment, this is all he's dreamed of for days. Maybe years, he's been waiting for this boy his whole life.      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It feels as if the temperature in the room as dropped to near chilling levels and all those occupying it are naturally frozen in place just observing those around them but no one moves and no one dares to break the menacing silence that has drafted over the room.

The lone auditory disturbances are the deep pants being released from Arbeloa’s kiss-stained lips and Cristiano zones in on his mouth with an exaggerated look of disgust, clearly recalling the privilege he allowed himself not minutes ago.

They glare at each other as if their frosty gazes are enough to strike the other dead, Cristiano’s rage is so imminent that one would question if he would even wait for death to greet the Spaniard.

Homicide is in the air.

Olivier glance at Aaron hoping to see regret, or at least doubt on his face but he's disappointed and sadly mistaken. Aaron looks proud and.... _smug_ , positively bursting at the seams and clearly feeling no indecision about the actions he's set in motion--dominos falling down.

"Gareth you're back" Aaron greets cheerfully as if impervious to the drought of words around them, doing an expert job at emitting an air of nonchalance.

He feels his eyes dip into a glare, finally letting himself admit that he's annoyed--beyond exasperated at Aaron's behavior since his arrival. The hypocrisy of Aaron chastising him for revealing Gareth's location to Cris only to find out that Aaron had done the same for Alvaro is _surreal_.

"What is he doing here?" Cristiano interjects before Gareth can respond to his Welshman's greeting and the anger is concrete in his deep voice, despite his question being directed at Aaron the Portuguese's eyes are firmly settled on Alvaro, watching his every move--anticipating another surreptitious kiss.

Olivier notes that Cristiano has strategically placed himself between the Spaniard and the Welshman, preventing anymore sudden kisses or even just ability to see each other.

Aaron opens his pretty pink lips to answer but once again, the Welshmen are not given the time to answer the questions directed at them. 

"What am _I_ doing here? Aaron called me and told me that Gareth needed me and there was only one thing for me to do" quick adoring glance at said flabbergasted Welshman, "Now the real question is what are you doing here and where is your little Colombian boytoy? What did you ready get bored of him too, come crawling back to Gareth?"

That was not the right thing to say.

Though Alvaro's intentions are clear, his words cause Gareth to tense up and take a steps away from the Portuguese as if he's reliving that moment right now. 

Cristiano's fists clench until he can see the whitening of his knuckles-- _oh no._

Then all is still until there is a flurry of motion and suddenly Alvaro crashes to the ground, holding his cheek in his hands which are coated in vibrant red when he draws them back.  Immediately he moves forward to intervene and in his peripheral Aaron moves similarly, but they are too slow and Alvaro swings with brutal intent and connects with the enraged Portuguese.

Lord! They intend to brawl right there, he can't wrap his head around this spectacle and Gareth seems just has taken back watching his team mates lunge at each other and grapple on the floor.

He should stop them, they should stop them; this is sheer madness Gareth is not a prize to be fought for!

_Ssshhhhhh_ drops of loud water splash him absently and he turns around to find the righteous glare of one Debra Bale looking every bit the protective lioness she is.

"I've put up with a lot of nonsense today but fighting I simply will not tolerate in my house" her voice leaves no room for argument and Cristiano and Alvaro simultaneously jerk away from each other, heads sunken in shame and reprimand.

The hose hangs dangerously from her hand ready for further use if necessary, "What makes you think that my son desires to be fought over like a piece of meat?" Her voice appears to shake Gareth from his stupor and he sprints-literally sprints away, feet thundering up the stairs and then the sound of a door slamming echoes through the house.

"I think it's time for you both to leave, Gareth needs a moment to think and you both need a moment to stop behaving like idiots" Debra turns around following her blunt statement dismissing them, the hose trailing behind her--it's a very unusual sight to behold.

They both heed her words and then he's alone with Aaron.

"Aaron I think we need to talk."

It’s time to be brutally honest with his lover before he causes anymore damage, Aaron might have started out with pure intentions but it’s evident now that he has lost his way and he is happy to be the one to set him back on the right path: a path that leads to Gareth being happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn't want to think, head still reeling from the unbelievable sight he just witnessed.

Cristiano _punched_ Alvaro in the face.

They were fighting on the ground, fighting over him.

This should make him angry and disgusted, his mother is right of course he's not an object to be won but...a small part of him quivers in satisfaction. Cristiano had been so enraged following the surprise kiss, interrupting before he could even process what was happening.

Alvaro's beard rough on his skin for mere seconds before the Portuguese was tearing him away, glaring at the Spaniard like he'd committed an unforgivable offense.

Literally fighting for him.

It shouldn't appeal to him so much, but dammit it does on the basest level. No one has ever fought for him, looked at him like he was something precious and now he had two whom are willing to and he's a bit overwhelmed.

He came here to get away, yet his troubles have followed him thousands of miles, chased him down and backed him into a proverbial corner.

Sleep.

All this can be dealt with in the morning, his mind is flooded with emotions and he honestly doesn't know what to do anymore, it was all so easy when he convinced himself nobody wanted him but that's clearly a lie now but now he must ask himself, who does he want?

His head and his heart cannot reach a harmonious accord.

So, sleep. His tired eyes droop until he drifts into a deep sleep. Ignoring the ridiculous flutter in his heart as images of an irate Cristiano flash through his mind, smothering the rush of arousal that runs through his veins at the memory of Cris pressing him into the wet dirt in the rain, memories of Cristiano _dominating_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's an update I fought very hard with this chapter and making it exactly the way I wanted...... Then I deleted it all and started over again and well this is what remains. It might come off as a bit of a filler chapter and it's a bit short as well and I'm sorry for that *sigh* but I have very clear ideas about the next chapter and today's amazing match has inspired me, those sweet sweet Baliano moments. So comments and kudos are welcomed as usual, they soothe my frazzled soul and encourage me to write faster!


	21. Elección

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why did you punch him?"

His knuckles are chilled from the ice pack he'd ordered from room service as soon as he had arrived at his hotel, too preoccupied to even take notice of the gasping maid who'd clearly not been expecting to deliver goods to the most famous man in football.

“Cris....ti...oh my god I have got to be hallucinating!” and he quickly thanks her, a smile and added wink cutting off her sentence and leaving her dazed and mouth a slack circle.

He adores all his fans but his mind is a labyrinth currently and images of his.... _altercation_ (oh shut up don't sugarcoat it, it was a fight!) with a certain bearded Spaniard have him feeling a bit, raw.

He hadn't meant to throw the first punch, didn't want Gareth to see that side of him--the possessive don't-touch _mine_ side of him, he's hidden so well until now.

Punching Alvaro wasn't a conscious decision, his adrenaline was already heightened from seeing those lips touch _his_ Gareth's plush mouth. He was the only one allowed to kiss that mouth.

'Now you know how Gareth feels' a voice unnecessarily supplies that suspiciously sounds like a certain snarky Brazilian, as if he's forgotten about the very incident that set everything in motion.

So no, he shouldn't have sucker punched the idiot in the mouth.

But.....damn he's _not_ sorry, not one bit--he can't even pretend that he didn't enjoy it, the pain that radiates through his fist is well worth it. It's time Alvaro learn that he can't touch what is clearly his--no Gareth isn't a possession he _knows_ that, but they belong to each other in a way that transcends materialism, their souls are woven in an intricate web and he is willing to forcefully remove anyone who tries to stand in his way.

The only factor that keeps him relatively sane is recalling that Gareth hadn’t reciprocated at all, even when he'd ambushed the Welshman in the rain--smash their lips together _hard_ like he couldn't taste them fast enough; his boy had kissed him back.

Instinctively.

Gareth's first response to feeling his lips were to press bank and gasp in a way that could be nothing but an offer.

_Take me, take me_.

Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

He takes a flash shower, hopping in and out as quickly as lightning and then his phone is in his hand, a candid picture of Gareth caught in a gorgeous laugh--eyes twinkling like sapphires in the light.

He considers calling but dismisses that idea, he highly doubts his boy will be amicable to any calls at this moment but he cannot stop himself from sending a text message.  


-I'm sorry, Gaz  


He's hardly expecting a response but he loathes to think that Gareth is over there angry at him and though he's hardly apologetic about punching Alvaro (he deserved it-dammit), he is sorry that Gareth seemed hurt by his actions.

Therefore, he jumps in shock when his phone buzzes merely seconds after, quick glance down and his eye brow raises so quickly Ancelotti would be proud.  


-You had the same look on your face when you got that red card against Córdoba, so I don't fully believe you.  


A bark of laughter bursts forth filling the open space in his executive hotel room.

Gareth is teasing him, perhaps he hasn't hidden his jealous tendencies quite as well as he believes because it's obvious his boy knows him well. But that hardly matters now because his boy has not only replied but he’s mocking him in an openly fond way.   


-I am sorry I upset your mum. That water was ice cold!  


He inserts ridiculous emojis to emphasize his point, a small snowflake and shocked face do the job. Gareth's reply comes instantaneously and he can't fight the light chuckle he releases  


-You got lucky trust me. Once some boys were picking on me and she chased them down with a frying pan. Fresh off the stove. That was the last time they ever called me Dumbo.  


The image of a young floppy-earred Gareth warms his heart enough for him to usurp the anger that simmers hearing about those pathetic tormentors. It's pointless to fixate on that, he too faced his share of bullies growing up. They are clearly getting the last laugh.  


-They deserved it, you're beautiful they were just jealous.  


He can effortlessly envision the raging blush that will now fill those ivory cheeks, Gareth wrongly considers his words as compliments instead of the facts he intends them to be. He teasingly sends a companion text, -Send me a picture of your blush, I bet you look gorgeous.  


There is no reply for a long pregnant moment and he considers that he might have pushed his luck a bit too far. Gareth offered an inch and he took a mile and then some.

This has always been his problem, he is working on being more patient but he knows he has a long way to go. He is in the middle of an apology (his second for the night), when his phone lights up with a text notification.   


-Did you mean what you said?  


The cryptic message disrupts the flirtatious tone the conversation previously held, he tilts his head in confusion having no idea what Gareth is inquiring. He's said too much since arriving to retrieve his boy to pinpoint exactly what he's referring to.

He recalls everything's he's said to the blue-eyed marvel, 'I love you', 'I'll fight for you' and other proclamations that he meant with all his heart and the only answer he can provide is: -Yes.  


As soon as the message is sent and received--the read notification highlighted--he sees an incoming call.

Gaz calling.

He can't press the green accept button fast enough!

The other line is silent and he starts to question if Gareth meant to call him, hurt growing at the thought that it might have been an accident until--"I want to try. I don't know if it's possible to go back but.....my name is Gareth Bale and I would like to go on a date with you.”

oh, _oh_! That! His impulsive request in the rain. He's forgotten about that, mind flooded with images of Alvaro and Gareth kiss--!! _No_. He won't let his jealousy ruin this beautiful gift he's being given.

"You don't know how happy you've made me" he replies allowing the full force of his admiration and fondness to coat his voice, soft smile draped across his lips.

“I’m not doing it for you, I'm doing it for myself. I owe it to myself to try" it's been a while since he had heard his boy so sure of himself and unapologetic about his needs, he _loves_ it. It's like watching a flower finally blossom in spring's radiance and sunshine once more after a long frost-bitten winter.

"Why did you punch him?" Gareth softly asks bringing him out of his fond thoughts and he wonders what Gareth wants to hear, it was an accident? He acted without thinking? He could easily claim any one of those truths but those are not the reasons why he punched Alvaro and so be lets the truth free.

"He used me to hurt you."

It is truly that simple, he felt disgusted by the kiss that the Spaniard forced upon his boy but that was not what fueled his anger.

Alvaro knew the impact his words would have, the immediate image that would come to Gareth's mind and he chose to say those words regardless--"Where is your boytoy? Did you already get tired of him too?"

Implying that he could ever tire of Gareth.

Tire of those pillowy soft lips, smattering of freckles, and those eyes--ice blue in one moment and warm pools of sapphire in another.  


"I'll never allow anyone to hurt you"  


"You've hurt me more than anyone else ever could" Gareth answers not cruelly but with a gentle bite. Those words are a jab to this heart and he knows he's being a hypocrite but he didn't kiss James and nothing he did was ever intentional! That has to count for something, he's trying to be better but how can they move forward if Gareth continues to look back?  


"Did you enjoy his kiss? Are we even now?  


The answering gasp is enough to highlight that Gareth was not expecting this line of questioning. He almost takes back the words, but he lets them settle; he has a point to prove.

It takes no time at all for Gareth to rise to the bait, he knows his boy as well.  


"You think this makes us even? I didn't cheat on you!"  


"I didn't cheat on you either, I was kissed by someone else. He kissed me."  


"Did you try to stop him?"  


"Did you?"  


He shoots right back and Gareth pauses, anger frozen and slowly dispelling. Realization starting to settle in at the similarity between their situations now. They are both the victims of other’s affections, doing nothing to garner this attention but on the receiving end nonetheless.

"He kissed me and I didn't stop him but that was because I was too shocked--just like you tonight. I am truly sorry you didn't hear it from me first instead of hearing it from... _him_ but I would never cheat on you Gareth. Everything that I am belongs to you and you to me. Do you remember when I asked you if you wanted to go with everyone else or stay with me, do you remember your choice?"

It seems so long ago like a distant dream or a fairy tale, the simplicity of what they had compared to the complications of now.

"Do you remember what you chose Gareth?" He needlessly demands an answer, needing to hear the words and finally Gareth whispers,

"I chose you."

His heart is soaring flying so high he fears he might get lost in the stratosphere and float way into space, never to be seen again.

"So choose me again. You are my only choice, am I yours?" Words wrapped in vulnerability pour from his mouth and he awaits Gareth's answer, the seconds passing by as slow as molasses, an eternity capsulated.  


 

 

 

"When has loving you ever been a choice?"

 

_I chose you. Always_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come :) a teaser for the rest, setting the scene for all the fluff and possible drama to come. Wooing!Cristiano will be fun to write and I wonder how Olivier will handle Aaron? How will he feel about Baliano's decision to try again? *hint hint not very happy* 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love.


	22. Sorpresa

There's absolutely nothing that he wants to say to his lover who stands before him with a frozen glare etched across his face, those clear blue eyes filled with evident fury.

And honestly what right does Olivier have to be upset with _him_ when _he_ brought that manipulative Portuguese smooth talker back into Gareth's life? This was the very reason he had boarded that plane with his friend, to help him escape from the egomaniac’s clutches: Gareth was a fly caught in a spider’s silken steel web writhing around unable to free himself. Led astray by its seemingly harmless beauty and now waiting to be devoured.

"I know that look very _well_ Ramsey that is the same look you give the referee after you've committed a careless challenge when you are unapologetic and believe you’ve done nothing wrong" and he stares back defiantly at his lover-- feeling no love at this very moment.

(That is a lie even at their worst he cannot smother the love he feels towards Olivier, unfortunately.)

"I have nothing to be sorry for!" his anger even shocks him for a bit before he captures it and points it right back like he's wielding a sword.

"You are the one butting into things you don't understand, how could you know what's best for Gareth? All you care about is Cristiano and this ridiculous connection you feel with him, he cheated on Gareth! Do you expect me to just allow him to go back to someone who will never see his worth, never deserve his love?" his voice which had risen at the beginning of his tirade, flutters off into near whispers--filled with raw emotion that he never meant to expose.

Underneath all his righteous anger there lies something else....it's feels a lot like fear.

His hands twitch uncontrollably and he gasps when they are suddenly encapsulated in warmth, red hot heat that sears through his entire body.

"Oh Aaron" those words are enough to swipe all his rage under the carpet as if it were never there to begin with.

"Gareth doesn't need to be saved, he just needed a friend by his side but you can't decide what's best for him; _who's_ best for him. He needs to make that decision himself" that's what he's worried about because Gareth has always made the same choice given an option.

"You don't understand Ollie I....have to do this. It's different for people like you" the Frenchman's perfectly groomed eyebrows lift in surprise but he soldiers on, "You're used to getting what you want mainly because you look like that" he gestures to Oliver's body with sweeping motions, watching that fire resurface in his eyes.

"But it’s not only your looks, you both exude charisma while Gareth still blushes when someone gives me a compliment; how could he stand up to the power house that is Cristiano Ronaldo? If I don't help him he'll just follow Cristiano blindly, wherever that may lead."

It's a relief to finally get that all off his chest, to finally explain to Olivier why exactly it was necessary to do everything he's done. He’s not the villain here.

Alvaro is normal and Gareth won't have to share him with the entire world, forever fearing that others will covet what should only belong to him. It's easier this way.

"Is that it then? If someone else was interested in me and kissed me, you would just give up and be with someone who's simpler than me?" Olivier demands in a voice that bursts the bubble he intended on remaining inside, "You would just give up and be content _not_ being with me? Am I that easily replaced, is Cristiano that easily replaced?"

Question after question rifling like a man possessed in a shooting range, _pop_ , _pop_ , _pop_ the bubbles burst and Olivier stands there waiting impatiently waiting for his reply. Suddenly he feels sick to his stomach because my god.....Olivier is _right_ he's been so ignorant and selfish.

Thinking of nobody but himself, he wanted Gareth's life to be easier but what if easier isn’t what will make him happier? Shouldn't his happiness be vastly more important? Maybe he just wanted his own life to be easier and he forgot about Gareth’s happiness all together and that makes him sick to his stomach.

"I guess I have my answer _non_? It doesn't matter right because people like us are fickle and shallow and we'll find someone else, bet you've just been waiting to get rid of me too since I'm so much like Cristiano" Olivier's are sharp like needles pricking his heart and he feels cold when his hands are abruptly released and his Frenchman steps away from him like he's sickened by his presence.

No, no, no this is going all wrong, how did everything get so messed up?

He was only doing what he thought was best.

"You once told me you loved me but.....I guess you forgot to mention that love was conditional. Maybe Gareth doesn't see Cristiano like that maybe he thinks the pain is worth it if at the end of the road, he's walking beside the person he's meant to be with…….But you were right though I should go, there's nothing here for me."

He wants to stop Olivier, grab onto him and beg him for forgiveness but he can't, physically can't bring himself to lay a finger on his hurt lover.

Instead he watches Olivier walk out the door knowing that he might be walking out of his life too. And, finally he sees what Olivier was talking about. He knows he should let Olivier walk away and lick his wounds give him space but he doesn't want to. Not one bit. This isn’t easier at all, watching the person you love walk out of your life could never be the better choice.

"Wait stop!"

Olivier stops frozen with his hand wrapped around the knob, seconds away from walking out on him. He doesn't turn around but his hand falls away from the gleaming brass knob.

He hurries to insinuate himself between Olivier and the door needing to know that Olivier won't leave him, will be physically unable to with him standing in the way.

"Ollie, baby...." and his voice catches in his throat when he's finally face to face with his boyfriend because ……..there are tears glistening on his cheeks.

Wet streams trailing down his beautiful broken face and instinctively he drags his wounded lover into his arms, dismayed that he could hurt someone whom he loves so dearly, deeply, completely. His heart sighs when Olivier doesn't hesitate in the slightest before melting into his embrace.

They've held each other countless times and it feels like coming home every single time, Olivier's arms wrap around his waist and he tips onto his toes to easily place his head on Olivier's shoulder.

"Is that what you think we're destined for Aaron? Are you just with me until...." the unspoken words hurt him more than he expected but it's his own fault for telling Oliver that people like them didn't work out in the long run.

He wants to punch himself in the face. He’s been such an idiot, lately.

Instead he draws away internally sighing happily when his lover stills tries to keep him close, he hasn't ruined this entirely it seems.

Taking that beautiful face into his palms, "I'm so _so_ sorry. I don't know what is wrong with me, I was being selfish gosh; so damn selfish! I wasn't thinking about you and I certainly wasn't thinking about Gareth, I just wanted--" and he loses his train of thought as Olivier captures his lips in a soft caress.

He surges up instantaneously needing more.

It's been too long since they've been intimate like this and he's practically starving for Olivier's love.

Hands drift into his recently short hair and he groans when he feels a sharp tug and Olivier just manhandles him, tilting his head until he's wide open for the Frenchman--completely at his mercy. Their lips clash again and again in a wet battle of tongue and too much teeth and he's panting like he's run a marathon or played a full match of football with no reprieve.

Abruptly Olivier backs away from him keeping him at an arm's distance and when he tries to recapture their kiss, molten blue eyes pin him in place.

"Tell me you'll stop everything no more match making; none of it Aaron. You need to let Gareth figure this out on his own, you can't play with people's lives." The strength in Olivier's words leaves him no choice but to nod in compliance but he's happy to agree, Olivier is right.

He can count on one finger how often that has happened.

"Can you do something else for me?"

_Anything anything anything_.

"Yes of course"

"Tell me you love me and you've missed me" his eyes widen in open shock and this time he doesn't allow for any awkward silence for Olivier to interpret, whispering as if they are the only two people in the room, in the house, _on the planet_ \--"I've never loved anyone the way I love you and I'm not myself when you're not around, you're the best part of me........I'll never leave again." 

The promise is sealed with a kiss.   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They text each other about everything and nothing, night and day and honestly he feels like a teenager except he never had anyone to talk to this often when he was a teen so he’s assuming mostly.

It starts off with a _'good morning'_ following the night he tells Cris that loving him has never been a choice and it progresses exponentially from there until they are arguing over their favorite pizza toppings- for him it's a simple pepperoni while Cristiano likes broccoli and spinach, and he argues that pizza is _supposed_ to be unhealthy.

He receives a few stray messages from Alvaro but those are mainly apologies for the other night and he still doesn't know what to say to the Spaniard.

Aaron has also apologized for his part in that with a watchful Olivier standing guard, looking every bit the disappointed mother forcing her wayward child to apologize. He would laugh at the imagery if he weren't so confused.

Cristiano hasn't made any outright demands that they meet up but the vast amount of _imu's_ (a quick Google search reveals the meaning: I miss you) he receives sends the message loud and clear.

He lays thoughtful in his childhood bed trying not to be affected by the fact that no messages have come in today, not even his mandatory good morning.

Cristiano is a busy man he won't let his mind start wondering to whom else the Portuguese could be talking to instead of him.  But his traitorous mind supplies a slew of options and a certain baby faced team mate is at the forefront but they had spoken about that, he'd outright asked Cris if he was still talking to James and he'd answered negatively without hesitation.

That has to be enough for him.

"He came all the way for you, I don't like what he did and I still think you should think hard about everything you've been through....but if he's the only one that will make you happy you need to figure out if you can trust him again" those were Aaron's final words before departing with Olivier, both of them needing time alone to fix the broken edges of their relationship.

He still doesn't quite understand what happened there but he didn't want to stall when they seemed so eager to be alone, glued to each other's side like they were conjoined twins. Fervently taking heated glances at each other, just watching them made him flush in embarrassment not quite comfortable with their evident arousal.

That had been days ago and he needs to get out of his room, get out of his house and get out of his head. It's not the best place to be at times.

He tugs his clothes off his body and hops into the shower and almost groans in frustration when the falling drops rekindle his memory. Resolutely not recalling how it felt to kiss Cristiano under the pouring rain and how for a few seconds, he'd forgotten everything but how perfectly their lips fit together.

His body doesn't receive the memo that he's ignoring that and he feels a hot wave of desire flow through his vein, until it collects in one central area.

He's hard before he can rein himself in and he looks down at his hard member with betrayal.

Despite his deeply felt shame he cannot control himself and suddenly he's back on the floor of that dirty club bathroom, mouth filled to the brim with Cristiano's warm cock. He remembers the bitter taste of precum on his tongue and his eager he was for the real thing how badly he wanted to drink it _all_ down, needing it more than he needed the very air that was barely filling his lungs.

His hands grip at his own cock without his consent and he bites at his lips to drown out his moans.

His wrist flicks rapidly up and down the wet sounds echoing off the bathroom walls "Unnnnggghhh" his pants fill the small room and he opens his eyes (unsure of when exactly he closed them) and it’s Cristiano standing before him, naked and wet--hair flattened under the pressure of the water.

"Come for me Gaz" and _that's_ all it takes, he watches helplessly as he erupts all over his hands leaking onto the floor until the creamy white swirls down the drain. He grips the shower walls to stop himself from crumpling onto the floor like a puppet that's had it strings cut.

Deep breaths help to clear his mind and he rinses himself once more hoping to wash off the shame that clings to him but to no avail, it clouds his mind like a fog that has been freshly settled. They are starting over he has no right to be objectifying Cristiano like that, using him to get off like he's some horny teenager.

So profound is his shame that he gets dressed and gets all the way downstairs before realizing that there is someone in his house, he can hear voices coming from his kitchen and he quietly walks over before stopping in utter shock when he's greeted by a very familiar figure.

He knows that perfectly gelled head anywhere.

He doesn't know what Cris is doing here but his heart jumps in excitement and he has to physically stop himself from gravitating towards him like the moon caught in the earth's pull.

Finally words start to travel to his eyes over the thumping of his own heart, "I want you to know that what I feel for your son is real and I'm willing to spend my whole life proving that to him. Gaz--Gareth is a good boy, he's everything I didn't know I needed and I messed up but I can't let this end without fighting with everything I have....but I respect you as well Mrs. Bale and I would....I would very much like your blessing." Cristiano's voice is barely audible but the way the words hit him in the chest the Portuguese might as well have screamed it from the roof top.

His mum stands stock-still with a passive look on her face, unreadable and he’s nervous about her response "You don't need my blessing Gareth has always made his own decisions and as a mother I accept that, you can't protect your children forever no matter how much you try. I will say this once if you hurt him like that again.....it will break him. He's always been a sensitive boy and he's allowed you so far into his heart don't... _don't_ hurt him again."

Cristiano can only nod in agreement following the heartfelt request and he watches his mum smile mischievously  before speaking again, "Good now turn around and say these things to the person who actually needs to hear them and let an old woman tend to her garden."

The Portuguese whips around so suddenly he winces at the crick he must have in his neck now and he looks down sheepishly, embarrassed that he was caught eavesdropping. He's truly behaving like an angsty teen today.

But embarrassment isn't the sole reason he looks away, he'd forgotten what he had been doing just moments ago after overhearing the serious conversation but now that he sees that ridiculously handsome face; it all rushes back to his head.

"I'll just leave you boys to it then" his mum stalks away with a knowing grin on her face, he's never been a fan of that particular look on her face. She pats him lightly on the cheeks and then he can hear the screen doors opening and ominously close.

Now they're alone and that's the last thing his raging hormones need right now, all his rational thoughts have evacuated the building.

"Gaz can you look at me?" Cristiano's soothing baritone assaults his ears and it wraps around him like a vice and he's unable to do anything but: _obey_.

Free falling from the sky with no parachute; the wind singing against his skin and the sun shining on his face. That's what it's like when their eyes connect, the _zing_ so startling he takes an immediate step back and watches as the Portuguese counters with a step forward.

"I've missed you" he closes his eyes at the confession wanting to return the sentiment but he's too overwhelmed by _everything_...."Baby did...did I overstep by coming here?" Cristiano worriedly inquiries and he shakes his head in decline. The blush on his cheeks is familiar like a long last friend.

As if reading his mind Cristiano brushes his fingers across said cheek and says, "I've missed making you blush knowing I'm the one who has that effect on you" and fuck, if that doesn't make him blush harder. If only the Portuguese knew how much of an affect he's had on him today, simply explosive.

"What are you doing here?" finally finding his voice in hopes to ease his own tension and Cristiano seems expectant of his question because he answers quickly, "I have a surprise for you will you come with me?" Cristiano has perfectly executed the art of asking questions in the form of a command.

Regardless he knows what his answer will be this is their first step towards starting over, "Yes I'll come with you" he repeats the very words that started this whole fiasco all those months ago in front of all their team mates.

Take two.   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They walk side by side, he's leading though it's clear that Gareth has an idea of where they're going but that's fine he's not expecting to surprise him in his own country, it isn't where they're going that's the surprise in any case.

Soon the pitch comes back into view the same one where they shared their passionate kiss in the rain: something out of a Hollywood love story or any of those romance novels Katia has always loved.

He nervously awaits Gareth's reaction to what he's done, he promised Mrs. Bale-- _call me Debra_ \-- that he would make her son happy and that's a promise he intends to keep. Finally the surprise comes into view and it's nothing extravagant but Gareth's soft gasp of surprise makes it all worth it.

A gingham blanket covers a fraction of the grass covered in traditional Portuguese meals- all things his mom has made for him growing up and things he wants to share with his boy.

"Did you make all of this?" Gareth asks and the fondness in his voice makes him preen before answering, "Yea I've been cooking all day that's why I didn't text you this morning. I had to call my mom for some help." There's a sudden sigh of relief and he looks over in confusion, reminding himself that he can't grab Gareth's face and kiss him like he's been wanting to since this morning-- _hell_ , since he landed in Wales.

A look of apprehension comes over that gorgeous face and it appears his boy is having a fit of sorts, mouth opening only to close seasons later but he patiently waits encouraging smile on his face.

"I just....I missed your text I look forward to them every morning and I was umm..sad when I didn't get one this morning. I thought you forgot about me" the words are expelled at a speed an auctioneer would be proud of but he speaks fluent nervous Gaz so he gets the gist.

He shakes his head in amusement grabbing Gareth's hands and entwining their fingers, "It's impossible to forget about the only thing that's ever on your mind and _you_ are always on my mind" and this time he can't help but drag Gareth forward, ecstatic when the boy comes with no resistance and, _wow_ their lips meet in a warm kiss, soft and sweet. He pulls harder until their bodies are flush and he can feel the palpitations of Gareth's erratic heart beats from where their chests are pressed together.

Kissing Gareth is heaven and the moans that he hears are hymns and this is his salvation.

Carding his hands through that luscious hair he pushes his tongue into that wet cavern getting a true taste before he disconnects them groaning when Gareth tries to follow him, eyes still shut in bliss. Eyelids lift to uncover those piercing blue orbs glazed over with heat and he groans at the temptation, _ay dios_.

"I really don't want to stop kissing you but that's exactly why I'm going to" he pants out watching as Gareth's eyes dart down to his lip....before flitting away.

He is truly being tested today.

They wander over to the picnic and both start filling their plates with food avoiding each other’s eyes and their other _hunger_.

Which lasts all of five seconds before Gareth releases a toe-curling nearly pornographic moan at the taste of the paella, "Cris this is amazing the best thing I've ever had in my mouth!" he exclaims and there's no way that statement wasn't intentional; Gareth is _trying_ to kill him.

Except he knows his boy and....he's not a tease not purposely anyhow, he's unaware of how sexually appealing he truly is. "Best thing you've ever had in your mouth huh?" the red flush is expected and Gareth sputters out his food, eyes widening in recognition, "I didn't mean...I just meant....shut up" he mumbles causing Cristiano to burst out laughing.

Full-bodied guffaws that leave him a splayed mess on the blanket holding his stomach, eyes squeezed shut in mirth. It will always amuse him how easily he can embarrass Gareth after everything they've done to each other.

"Stop laughing at me!" Gareth demands and he laughs harder still at the petulance in his voice missing the annoyance that passes over Gareth’s face before resolve and determination settle instead and his laughter dies off at the next words, "I touched myself this morning."

What.

"What?"

"I touched myself this morning thinking about you, I thought about your hands on my body and how much I missed you. I thought about that time in the bathroom, in the club with everyone else the _thing_ we did...I did it on purpose. James was there, right behind us watching me suck you off like a cheap whore and I wanted him to see, wanted him to see who you belonged to. I wanted him to see you come all over my face and know that would never be him. I wish you were touching me right now, holding me down and giving me what I need. Don't you want to give me what I need Cris?"

What.

He has never ever heard Gareth sound so sensual and he knows now he has been lucky up until this point because he has never been victim to this Gareth, this sexually charged Gareth is capable of anything. He wants to ask questions--what James was there? You planned that? You touched yourself??--but all his body is capable of at this transgression is gaping like a fish and getting as hard as a rock.

"You should see the look on your face" Gareth teases before leaning over to physically close his mouth before spooning another bite of the paella, "Maybe the second best thing I've ever had in my mouth" all said with a wink, a wink _dammit_ and a surreptitious glance down at his crotch, which jolts in acknowledgement.

Cue pants tightening, further.

There is nothing he can do to halt the flush that covers his face and that appears to be exactly what his manipulative boy was waiting for, grinning salaciously while looking up at him from under long dark lashes that frame those haunting blue eyes. As if saying _HAHA I got you_ and boy does Gareth have him, can have him however he wants him.   


 

Why can't they have sex again??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More date in the next chapter and more Ramroud (maybe even a scene from their hotel room) and don't forget who else is here looking to win Gare Bear's affections! But seriously more date because I will drag this date out as much as possible but this chapter was getting a bit lengthy and I haven't updated in a while ( don't write two chaptered fics it's not as fun as it seems) so here you go, I hope you all enjoy and drop a comment no matter how short I love hearing from you all! :)


	23. Intermission

"And you believe him? What if he changes his mind as soon as Cristiano comes back, I’ve never seen anyone latch on to someone so desperately I don’t want you to get hurt mi rayito” Iker awakens in a lucid state to the harsh what he assumes are intended to be whispers from his boisterous lover, who is turned away from him clutching his phone to his ears.

The sun is peeking through their curtains and the rays perfectly highlight the rippling muscles in his back and the urge to touch is almost irresistible, his fingers are hovering above the smooth tanned skin before he can stop them.

The tattooed skin has always been his weakness….his eyes roam over the Spaniard’s body and he’s quickly able to catalog many other attributes that Sergio possesses that are weaknesses for him.

“Celo, I just want you to be happy and if he makes you happy then that’s great but be careful. He’s young and playing on a team filled with players he probably dreamed about as a boy, make sure his feelings are pure and not just a result of hero worship” Sergio’s comically loud whispers shake him from his observation and finally he takes notice of the words and feels profound pride.

His nené is all grown up and giving responsible advice that won’t lead to any arrests or trips to the hospital, he never thought he would see the day.

He can’t help the fond smile that fills his face and that’s when Sergio turns around, eyes widening in shock as if he wasn’t speaking loud enough to awaken anyone in a 10-mile radius.

In another life, his lover would have been a passable actor perhaps gracing the stage of a theatre somewhere and he would be in the audience cheering for him.

He soothes him before the apologies can start, Sergio is aware of how viciously he despises being woken up on his days off he’s not proud of his behavior in the past.

He has thrown various things at Sergio, the worst being a hideous glass figurine that Sergio had purchased at an art gallery thankfully it had missed its intended target and shattered into miniscule bits against the wall.

Though Sergio had lit up like a firecracker shouting at him and berating him for destroying his “masterpiece” and demanding that he purchase a replica, he never did the thing was hideous. Sergio was fairly easy to distract he had simply slipped to his knees and thoroughly apologized _all_ morning long. 

So he understands why Sergio would be apprehensive dealing with him now but all he feels is contentment and that feeling drives him to lean forward ever so slightly and seal their lips. He can feel the Sergio’s shock but he ignores it in favor of deepening the kiss, running his tongue across the closed seam of those addicting lips, begging—no demanding that he be allowed entrance.

With a soft moan that goes straight to his groin the kiss is suddenly wet and hot and he reaches down and takes a handful of that plush ass, imagining how it feels to be insid---

“You taste horrible” Sergio groans into his mouth and he fights the urge to roll his eyes, his lover as always been too squeamish to enjoy these activities before they’ve cleaned up as if morning breath is the worst thing either of them have tasted.

It really, really isn’t.

But he still pulls away after a final smack of their lips, smiling at the way Sergio licks his lips as if savoring his taste even though he was just complaining about it.

That’s his Sese, a beautiful paradox.

He turns back to the tail end of the conversation he just heard, “Celo and James?” he inquires eager to hear if his speculations are correct, he knew that James’ infatuation with Cristiano was just puppy love founded on something that could never lead to a true relationship.

Gareth had joined the club with the same proverbial “heart eyes” but it had settled, he has seen that Cristiano wasn’t perfect—far from it. Gareth had seen Cris throw temper tantrums, shouting at team mates who failed to deliver, at times he became that teammate and he pulled away; distancing himself from the hot tempered Portuguese instead spending more time with Toni and Arbeloa and Cristiano noticed right away, easing back and even trying to tame his fiery rage.

Gareth never spoke back to Cristiano but the silent treatment was enough to have the Portuguese looking down in shame and bring a bottle of water as a childish sort of apology. Cris never brought water for anyone, he was much too used to having others fawn over him rushing to ensure all his needs were met, so it was only natural that they all ribbed him pretty hard whenever he was seen trailing after the silent Welshman.

It was almost ridiculous how much Gareth had the superstar wrapped around his fingers.

"Yeah he came over to Celo's house and declared his undying love for our little sunshine and now they're going to have bushy-haired babies with freckles and rapid hip movement, I'm almost jealous" his idiot mumbles into the crook of his arm that is bent and cushioning his head, Sergio peers up into his face with bright eyes before continuing, "How come you never declare your love for me?"

The teasing tone of his voice is apparent but underneath that he can detect a....longing in his voice. Iker never said the words "I love you" to Sergio, never.

Their relationship had started as a mere convenient friendship they were always in each other’s presence, representing for county and club.

But he had always been so close to David and Sergio and Fernando were legendary for their open shows of affection. Then David left and Fernando didn't get called up as often and he found himself with a handful of hyper Spaniard, sitting next to him on every trip and tackling him to the ground at practices.

At times he felt like a father trying to keep Sergio in line, screaming at him both on and off the pitch.

Screaming did little to modify Sergio's bad behavior but it made him feel better. Then one day he looked at his co-captain and realized in horror that Sergio was the most important consistent person in his life and he couldn't imagine being without him.

And then he'd leaned over and kissed the Sevillan right on the lips knowing that feelings this strong had to be reciprocated and he was right, they were.  But he was bad with emotions with _words_ in particular, he fumbled when he tried to explain to Sergio how he felt he was much better at showing the defender how he felt.

He thought his actions would be enough but it became evident fairly early on that Sergio was a man of words, always knowing what exactly to say to make him feel better about anything.

It was more shocking than the revelation that his tough tattooed lover was an avid cuddler; his shoulders were now a resting place for Sergio's cheek he wouldn't be surprised if there was an imprint now.

So yes he never actually uttered those words, well never while the Spaniard was conscious to hear them. Darkness gave him courage that he lacked in the glaring light of day.

He knew eventually they would have to discuss this but they'd been drifting on so blissfully he'd thought that Sergio had accepted his silent expressions of adoration but looking at those soulful brown eyes gazing up at him, he knew that wasn't true.

It was barely morning with the sun peeking over the horizon like a frightened toddler hiding behind its parents leg so his brain was barely cognizant, that's the only justification he has for what comes out of his mouth, "I'm hopeful that this temporary insanity will pass and I'll settle down with someone normal."

It's like a switch has been flicked, a complete blackout.

Sergio's eyes flutter between emotions- shock, anger, indignation, before remaining on one.

Resignation.

He watches in horror as the walls that are usually demolished in his presence erect so rapidly that he's unable to read anything in his lover's eyes.

He's gone too far.

It's not out of the norm for him to make these jokes in front of others as Sergio playfully hits him and wheedles his way into his side, but that's different- everyone knows they are joking and it's easily brushed away. Here, alone in their home words have more gravity and he's crossed an invisible line and he rushes to fix his mistake, gripping the arms that are recoiling from his touch.

"Sese noo I didn't--"

"No no it's fine I was being stupid you don't have to say anything you don't feel" Sergio interjects reassuringly whispering as if each word hurts as it exits his lips.

Anything he _doesn’t_ feel.

Sergio thinks he doesn't love him, all this time he assumed that his lover understood his silence and the entire time Sergio thought he didn't love him, his skin itches uncomfortably and he has to—

"I'm going to make breakfast, eggs are good yeah?" Sergio inquire slipping from his arms without waiting for his answer, moving as fast as he's ever seen him. "Nene" the nickname does nothing to delay his departure contrarily it appears to make the defender flee even faster.

Until he's alone in their bedroom wondering how he could have fucked everything up so royally. He resists the urge to scream into his pillow, just _barely_.   


 

 

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later, he's showered and changed into lounge clothes-an old academy shirt and a pair of Sergio's sweat pants that hang a bit looser on his hips.

He follows the delicious scent of eggs (just the whites, most likely) and sausage (farm fresh and organic) down to the kitchen, immediately greeted by the sight of his lover's naked back, swirling ink contrasting against the golden brown of his skin. 

He subconsciously licks his lips, not able to prevent the wayward thought that he would much prefer _that_ for breakfast. His eyes shift down to that luscious swell of flesh, eying plump cheeks hungrily imagining how satisfying it would be to sink his teeth into that.

He's so busy ogling Sergio's body that he doesn't notice the small rectangular device pressed between his ear and shoulders. Not until he hears a self-deprecating laugh taint the air, "I did what you told me I asked him if he loved me and he said....I was right, these feelings only run in one direction" Iker feels his body tense up, who is Sergio revealing such personal information to?

He steps into the room listening intently, he feels a tinge of guilt momentarily but easily pushes it to the side. He has a right to know who Sergio is airing their laundry to.

"No he didn't use those exact words but it was pretty clear....you're biased you're my friend you have to say that....Nando, please stop. I know you're trying to help but you weren't there, it wasn't an misunderstanding he's never said the words 'I love you' and now I know why. Anyway, thanks for listening I don't know what I would do without you."

Nando.

As in Fernando. The man what Sergio previously gave his heart to who left him and now they have a weird quasi friendship.

That's who he's telling these intimate things to, Iker does nothing to tamper the surge of anger and jealously that zings through his blood. He wants to walk over and fling Sergio's phone across the room and show him exactly how much he _doesn't_ love him, repeatedly.

When he gets closer he can see the soft look on the profile of Sergio's face and then his entire face flushes in a bright rouge blush, before he answers in a scandalized voice "I don't need you to stroke my ego you don't have to say things like that", after a couple seconds Sergio shifts and looks down in embarrassment and exclaims "Nando!"

Before he can stop himself he closes the minor inches separating him from his lover, ripping the phone from his unprepared hands and quickly tapping 'end call' and then it's eerily quiet as Sergio stands there looking at him like a startled hare.

Sergio makes a move to retrieve his confiscated phone but the dark look on his face stops him and he withdraws his hand preemptively. "What did dear _Nando_ say that caused such a coy reaction nené?" he spits out Fernando's name like the very syllables are leaving a bad taste on his tongue.

The startled look minutely shifts to nonchalance as Sergio looks away refusing to meet his penetrative stare.

As if he has something to hide.

The idea that his Sergio could have secrets he only shares with Fernando makes his blood boil in a way that only bad defending or careless mistakes on the pitch illicit.

The sharp tap of Sergio's phone meeting the tile that lines their kitchen floor echoes as he steps forward and places this arms on either side of Sergio, trapping him to the island they usually eat their meals.

A man with that much muscles and tattoos shouldn't be allowed to look so small and vulnerable but somehow Sergio manages it.

The defender gulps before answering finally, "I'm sorry I shouldn't have been discussing our private business with him but...he called and told me he was coming here for vacation and that he wanted to see me and he asked about you-us and you know I can't keep my big mouth shut so I told me and he was just trying to make me feel better. He didn't mean anything he said, he's just being Fernando"

"It’s _amazing_ that you gave such a long answer but still didn't answer my question: what did he say to make you blush like that?" He refuses to be deterred only he should be able to make his lover react like that, it's his right and pleasure.

When a wet pink appendage makes its way out to moisten equally pink lips he knows he's about to be lied to, Sergio is a horrible liar with various tells. That's one of his more unknowingly distracting ones.

He makes the final step into Sergio's personal bubble, internally smirking at the small inhalation of breath it causes and reaches behind to turn off the fire that's slowly turning their breakfast into a charred mess.

"Nené you're going up open that pretty mouth and lie to me? You and Fernando have secrets now, you can tell him our personal business but you won't tell me what he said that makes you shiver like a cat in heat?" Sergio's eyes widen and he bristles at the tinge of guilt he sees, he never actually expected Sergio to have anything to be guilty about, Fernando has never been an issue in the past.

He knows they were close but that was before them, he wants to rub all over his lover like the very cat in heat he accused Sergio of being.

He's not usually this possessive but Sergio has never given him a reason to question what they have before, always looking at him like he's hung the moon and the stars. He's never been the receiver of such unbridled devotion but now that he is, he'll do _anything_ to keep all of it.

Finally after a pregnant pause the typically over confident defender stutters out a reply, "He u-um said some stuff about it being impossible for anyone not to um- love me and....Iker I don't wanna do this I'm not trying to make you jealous to get you to say things you don't mean. I've told you I love you a hundred times and I meant it every single time, don't say it now because you think I'm going to go to someone else. When I'm with you there is no one else. Fernando is my friend, once we had something but that's over and now there's only you."

His jealousy flutters away as elusive as a monarch butterfly in the wind.

Sergio looks at him with eyes that promise him the world if he only reach out and take it.

He's not a particularly religious man but this is what heaven must look like.

"I can't believe I get to have you" he whispers in awe, reaching up with trembling fingers and caressing the stubbled skin of Sergio's chin, thumb swiping across that glistening bottom lip that taunts him and his delay.

With a mischievous grin the Spaniard replies "Anyone else would have given me back by now" and he doesn't miss the note of self-deprecation and knows that's his fault for his callous statement earlier.

This time he won't mess up.

"Listen to me please as I'm surprisingly not as well versed as you when it comes to expressing my feelings." He takes a self-reassuring breath before plunging into the unknown, "When David left I shut a piece of myself off, I had to it was hard to breathe most days. We were never anything official he loved Victoria and she made him unbelievably happy but I couldn't stop myself from feeling the way I did", he ignores the overwhelming look of sympathy that mars Sergio's face; he has always felt so strongly for others.

"There were moments I thought maybe- I was stupid it would have been impossible but I still wanted. I told him how I felt" this part he has never revealed to anyone and his heart aches in remembrance. "I begged him not to leave but he didn't feel the same way about me, his priority was Victoria and the family they were going to build and I- well I was just a good friend. He let me down easy and then left and ripped my heart out of my chest. I told myself never again, never another footballer and _definitely_ not another man and I was staying true to that promise until you. Sergio, the only reason I never say I love you is because...I love you so damn much that saying it out loud terrifies me . I thought David leaving was the worst pain ever but... Nené if you ever decided you didn't want to be with a grumpy old man I don't know what I would do."

It simultaneously feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest and like his heart is being squeezed in an iron grip, Sergio's wide eyed stare and gaping mouth do nothing to ease the raping thumping of his heart.

_Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum!_

When Sergio finally reacts he's reminded of the sun that was peeking over the horizon, the defenders entire face lights up like the fourth of July; that American holiday David Villa has mentioned to him.

He can't help but reciprocate tugging Sergio into a tight embrace, holding him like he never wants to let him go.

_Because_ he never wants to let him go.

"Iker you have nothing to be jealous about Nando flirts by default but I can tell he has a thing for that little French boy, Anton I think his name is and I kind of love you too"

"His name is Antoine, Karim has introduced us to him several times how is it possible that you call him a different name every time?" He replies nonchalantly as if the casual declaration doesn't make his blood sing.

"He's plays for the wrong Madrid" Sergio shrugs and he suddenly realizes how minimally dressed his lover is.

Naked shoulders rise and fall, no shirt to be seen.

Eyes trailing down meet smooth muscled skin and he hasn't eaten all day and he's ravenously hungry.

His hands leave their place on the Sergio's back and grip a handful of soft pliable flesh, bunching up the skin in his hands. A soft groan fills the air and he feels all the blood rush _downnn_ to his other head. The lone shorts Sergio dons are preventing him from touching skin and he easily slips the material lower, underneath the teasing cheeks.

Immediately he fingers the seam before searching for the furled entrance, swirling around but never pushing in like he knows his lover is desperate for.

"Fuck" Sergio sounds utterly destroyed and he's only began, this is gonna be fun.

"Turn around baby, let me see" he's not usually the type for endearments but they naturally fall off his tongue in these moments and he hasn't missed the delicious affect they have on the usually disobedient defender.

What he would give to have that much power on the pitch.

Sergio turns around seductively planting both arms on the cool marble of their counter top, bending at the hip putting his ass on perfect display. He takes it all in, the strong columns he calls legs and that ridiculous 'tramp stamp' and finally that lonely quivering pink flower, practically begging for his touch- be it fingers or tongue.

Sergio quickly grows impatient and throws a baleful look over his shoulder, "Were you only planning to look? Should I call Nando up and see if his offer to stroke my ego still stands?" And he can't control himself, _SMACK_!

His hand leaves behind a stinging red mark and before Sergio can let out a scream he's prying the cheeks apart and kissing the tight hole like he's been lost in a desert and this is his oasis.

Licking his way inside amazed at how soft and hot Sergio feels, he dips a lone finger in watching how easily the slutty hole sucks in. He drills in until he finds that bundle that makes Sergio scream like a _banshee_ and scream he does, throwing his head back completely engulfed in the pleasure.

"Yes, yes, don't stop" Sergio begs and he has no intention of stopping and indicates that by adding a second finger, scissoring the tight resistant muscles.

Sergio screws his hips backwards chasing his fingers on every withdrawal. "You're so fucking greedy can't stand not having something in that ass, are my fingers enough or do you need something bigger baby?"

His dick throbs in his borrowed sweat pants and jumps for joy when Sergio pants out, "Something bigger, put it in me." He grabs the first thing he sees which turns out to be a half-used bottle of extra virgin olive oil.

He almost snickers at the irony, they are both long ways from being virgins of _any_ kind.

But he contains his laughter and pours a generous amount into his hands, tugging his pants down just enough to free his clock lathering up as fast as humanly possible. Sergio twists back to watch him with a ravenous stare before saying, "Look at you so shiny and pretty and all mine.”

Actually _cooing_ at his crotch and if he wasn't hard enough to hammer nails, he would zip up and walk right out because his cock isn't a damn puppy. He's had quite enough of Sergio's smart mouth so he doesn't bother prepping any longer, the little shit deserves a bit of pain he suffers every day.

He grips that plump ass once more spreading his present open, steps forward and watches the head of his cock catch on the rim. He feels light headed from the instantaneous pleasure.

Pausing for a moment to collect himself, before pressing the rest of the way _innnnn_.

Mesmerized watching his turgid cock disappear into Sergio's hot hole still wet from his tongue.

"Finally shut you up huh?"

" _Move_ damn you" and he's never been happier to follow an order ( he's much more accustomed to giving orders after all).

Dragging his cock from its new home until only the tip remains before, _slamming_ back in!

Sergio's body flies across the counter top knocking down a few pots and pans, that do nothing to drown out his moans and pleads for "more please more!" Iker shifts his hips... _searching_ , searching until " _There_!" he finds the spot and Sergio is clawing at the table, shoving his ass back like he wants to feel Iker all the way in his stomach.

His heavy balls slap against the underside of Sergio's ass and he's so close to the edge but he needs to get Sergio off first. Good thing his lover has many kinks and dirty talk is high on the list.

"Look at you taking my cock like a pro, you love my cock in your little hole. Not so little right now baby I'm tearing you open, you're gonna feel me for days. Think about me every time you move, remember who owns this ass. Is it Nando, does he own this ass?"

Sergio is too busy moaning to answer him but he feels his previous jealousy rushing back and he needs an answer.

"Who owns this ass?!" he thrusts so hard that Sergio is knocked onto his tip toes, wailing as he batters against his prostate.

"I asked you a question!"

"You! You Iker you, you own everything!"

And that's all he can take, his cock pulses as it erupts coating Sergio's channel in creamy white, he has enough sense of mind to reach under and grab Sergio's neglected cock and two pumps is all it takes. They both fall over the edge, salvation.   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The blonde looks up as his door is unceremoniously opened (he's about 95% sure he hasn't given anyone else a key to his room) and in walks Antoine, who crawls into his lap in lieu of a greeting.

Then his hand is taken and placed of a soft head of hair, black and white like an annoying skunk. 

An adorable annoying skunk...who smells amazing.

"Who were you taking to? I could hear your flirty voice through the door" the Frenchman inquires and he almost hears..disapproval in the voice but he doesn’t analyze it too strongly. Ignoring the whispered “I don’t like when you flirt with other people” paired with a vicious pout. What could it all mean anyway?

"Just Sergio he called to tell me that Iker doesn't love him and I told him how stupid he is" he replies subconsciously stroking Antoine's _unbelievably_ soft hair not quite comprehending what exactly is going on here it feels too _right_ to stop.

"Hmm that _is_ pretty stupid some people are so oblivious" the boy (well man but that face could belong to a boy) quips back running his chin as if he's a wise sage instead of the idiot who just locked himself out of his own hotel room last night, getting his towel stuck in the door and who winded up at Fernando's door with only his hands to protect his dignity, if someone who uses a skunk as a style icon could claim to have any left.

He burrows his nose into Antoine's vanilla scented hair and hums in agreement, some people truly are blatantly oblivious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile and for that I apologize to anyone still there! Life got in the way but I'm happy to be writing again and hope you enjoyed my smut, it's been a long season for Real Madrid and I just wanted to write some Seriker fluff. I still haven't accepted that our wonderful captain is gone :( but yes, yes this is just an interlude that kinda became longer than intended but the next chapter will take us back to our favorite idiot boys! Kisses kudos and any comments are welcome.


	24. Chapter 24

Quick as a counter-attack courtesy of their own team, Cristiano is shouldering his way into his space almost suffocating him with his sheer grandness and he instinctively backs away to regain his breath.

 

But that moment of reprieve is short lived and the Portuguese gently runs a hand through his hair-only to forcefully bring him back into place. Uncharacteristically, he's not quick enough to smother the answering groan that the blatant hair pulls elicits and those dark coffee eyes darken until it appears as if they are all pupil.

 

It does nothing but highlight how predatory Cristiano is behaving, shoving away a tupperware sealed container to lay him down on the blanket and hover above him; eying him as if he's the _meal_.

 

His breath shortens in--anticipation? Fear?.....perhaps a bit of arousal.

 

Those dark, dark eyes cataloging his every twitch, seemingly hypnotized by the wet slide of his tongue across his lips. A not so random repositioning of the Portuguese hips causes a rush of red to flow through his blood- congealing in a _very_ similar location.

 

He attempts to adjust himself a bit more subtlety but the smirk that graces that surreally handsome face tells him he's been less than successful.

 

"This isn't why I brought you out here" the deep grumble of the Portuguese's voice causes another tight tinge in his groin and it's hard to believe that proclamation with the position they've found themselves in.

 

Yet he knows that this predicament is a result of his senseless prodding, like a rabbit traipsing under the nose of a lone wolf.

 

So he stays quiet too rosy-cheeked and burning to respond and not sure what kind of response is expected from him. Blinking languidly up at his…...he doesn't know how to label what they are. Relatively he's aware that first moniker his mind catapults to the front of his tongue is “lover”, he's never been able to seriously consider _boyfriend-_ it makes him feel like a prepubescent teenager with his first crush.

 

He blames his outrageous level of arousal for the lack of brain-to-mouth filter, “what are we?” he hears himself whisper like a dark secret. The question halts Cristiano in his tracks, delays the trail of butterfly kisses that were being laid on his neck and collarbone--soft presses of barely there kisses.

 

Sometimes he hates himself and his constant need for confirmation. His heart skips a beat at the fond look he receives, he'll never be ready for the force that is Cristiano Ronaldo. The Portuguese gently eases off his sprawled body before taking his hand and tugging him back into a seated position, still so close that they are inhaling and exhaling the same air. The intimacy of the moment makes him ache.

 

“That is entirely up to you, nothing ever changed for me. Every time you run I chase right after you and I feel pathetic….you'll never fully understand the control you have over me. I never meant to love you this way.”

 

In the past he would have been filled with doubt, doubt that Cristiano means those words, doubt that anyone could ever mean those words, doubt that's he's worthy of this words. But _now_ he can't challenge that statement because Cristiano has done _too_ much to prove that his words are true.

 

The Portuguese is correct, he'll never understand _how_ the universe decided that they are a perfect fit but he can't deny that there's is no one else he'd rather be with.

 

There is no reason to attempt to save face anymore, he's seen all Cristiano’s faces and he loves every single one of them. He wants love, all the love the Portuguese has to offer and then some more, he wants to fall asleep beside him and awaken to see him once more, he wants--”everything” the word escapes before he can tie it up jail it away in the prison of his mind.

 

Once again he has stunned his _everything_ into silence and he absently ponders snatching the word back and expelling something else, something _less_ with fewer connotations.

 

As conspicuously as a shadow striker in the height of his career, Cristiano meanders into his box of space and heads for the goal: his lips. He takes them as easily as any penalty he's buried in the past.

 

It's a kiss drenched in red _hot_ passion so much so, he has to twist away to catch his breath drawing in gulps before he's tugged back into the embrace.

 

Over and over their lips meet in a familiar wet dance, tongues twisting in lustful serpentine movements. Suddenly the Portuguese breaks away, “Make sure you mean this, if you want everything then I _need_ everything too. Nobody else can have any part of you that should belong to me, I will always fight for us but I need to know that you won't give up every time something goes wrong. There will always be people who want us, who'll try to come in between us--are you willing to face all that for a chance at us?”

 

They're sitting so close each word is whispered into his mouth, traveling down until they settle in his heart.

 

James, Arbeloa, _people they haven't met yet_ none of it matters they are so miniscule compared to huge love he feels for this man sitting in front of him promising him the world on a silver platter.

 

He feels so heavy and there's so much he wants to say but he can't hold onto those words long enough to get any of them out. So he draws his hands from the loose hold the Portuguese had them hostage and places his right hand right over Cristiano’s heart-- which is beating so hard he's surprised he can't hear it and his left hand on his smooth cheek.

 

“Everything” the only word he's capable of saying and he's never meant anything more in his entire life.

 

“Then come back to my hotel with me, texting and calling isn't enough. You're already the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thought on my mind at nights” it's a request wrapped in command coated in longing, all tied up with pleading, he doesn't hesitate before nodding in compliance.

 

He wants everything.  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His mother’s knowing grin as he wonders back into his childhood home with a monstrous hickey adorning his neck and blades of grass in his hair is downright devious and he wonders how anyone can mistake his mother for anything but the she-devil she is.

 

She cheekily makes her way over to him, picking blades from his windblown-hand rumpled hair before saying, “looks like you had fun more than I’ve had cleaning this house” and he can’t control the red flush that fills his face, he attempts to move but finds her more difficult to evade than most of the defenders he has faced on the pitch.

 

“Now, now sweetheart don’t be embarrassed I know what young boys get up to, I’ve walked in on you many times and don’t think your father and I didn’t have our own fun back in the day. It took a few tries to have you” her voice is saccharine sweetness as if they are simply discussing the weather and he isn’t being mentally scarred by his own mother, he thanks Lord Bendter that he convinced Cristiano to wait in his expensive rental car.

 

He knows if the Portuguese were here they would both make it their mission to embarrass him to death.

 

“Conversations like these are _exactly_ why I never brought home any friends” and they both ignore the actual truth that back in those days he simply never had any friends to bring home, his mother was his best friend and she would come and watch him practice free kicks in the abandoned pitch and cheer him on and made him feel like he was the most important person in her life; he loves her so much it hurts.

 

He always forgets how small is mum is until he’s encasing her in his arms and her quiet gasp lets him know he’s shocked her with his sudden embrace, “thank you mum” he whispers into her soft blonde hair and he can feel her beautiful head on his chest and the wetness that his words cause.

 

With a choked voice she replies “I love you baby, now go before he comes for you _again”_ and he squeezes her one last time before placing a final kiss on her head, backing away and trailing up the stairs to get his travel bag. It’s time for him to go home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Déjà vu.

 

He remembers all his anxiety and trepidation all those months ago sitting in the passenger seat of Cristiano’s million dollar luxury car, remembers how naïve he was to think that they would just have sex—a victor’s celebration that would be forgotten at the break of dawn.

 

He could never have foreseen all the drama that would follow in the wake of that unforgettable night and now they were together and making promises about _forever_ and he could not be happier if he tried.

 

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I never scored that goal, would we be here today?” he voices a thought that has plagued his mind for a long time, that goal had been a catalyst for everything, without it they might not---“

 

“Even if we had lost I would have asked you to leave with me. I didn’t care about the goal Gareth it was always about _you_ don’t you realize that by now? I had been asking you to come over to my house all week before that, you always said no.”

 

Oh.

 

All those times he’d driven home with Cris and he’d invited him over for dinner, he thought the Portuguese was just being polite; why would Cristiano want to have dinner with _him_ when he was surrounded by world class athletes who were far more interesting than him?

 

“I wanted you the moment I saw you, every conversation we’ve had since that point as been leading to this moment so don’t you _dare_ pass this off as luck. You and I were always going to be, I always get what I want.”

 

He must be going crazy—past going, he’s _gone_ because what the Portuguese just said is leaning more towards _possessive arrogant egocentric_ but his heart hears a profound declaration of love: a sonnet worthy of Wordsworth himself.

 

“Pull over” he demands already twisting to release his seatbelt, “Over there, past those two trees there’s a road” he absently gives directions mentally pumping a fist when he’s finally released from the tight grip of his seatbelt.

 

Cristiano doesn’t voice his confusion but his face has always more expressive than words. “I’ve never done anything in a car before” that all he says as he climbs over the console, all he has a chance to say before he feels hands on his hips assisting him along his way.

 

“Gaz are you sure about—“

 

“Shut up” he sojourns any more feeble attempts to prevent the inevitable, roguishly grinding down into the burgeoning swell he can feel underneath his bum.

 

He takes his time becoming reacquainted with his _old friend_ swirling his hips and drinking in the noises he drags from his Portuguese. His eyes wander down to the hands that have tightened on his hips, he’s sure there’ll be bruises.

 

He hopes there are bruises.

 

He can see the strain in his lover’s arms and knows he’s trying to control himself, allowing Gareth to stay in control and it makes him want to push and _push_ until Cristiano breaks.

 

He carefully pries the hands off his hips groaning at the ache they leave in their wake and he positions them up and behind Cristiano’s head, “No” he pleads immediately seeming to get the message and his quick refusal wants him want to try this all the more.

 

He’s never seen Cristiano so strung out it’s doing all sorts of things to his ego. “Stay” he says recapturing those disobedient hands when they start to move back towards his body, this time his face.

 

“If you let me do this I’ll let you do whatever you want to me later” he’s not quite sure who he has become but he has no complaints about this new persona who seems to have possessed his body.

 

Cristiano’s pupils dilate until only a rim of dark chocolate brown remain, he pointedly makes a show of moving his hands back where Gareth placed them early, gripping the white leather of the head rest before finally nodding in agreement.

 

He leans in for a kiss—presses his lips to the smooth meat of Cristiano’s shoulder licking his way down _slooowly_ until he reaches a hard nipple peeking through soft white cotton.

 

The winger in white t-shirts has always been a weak point for him.

 

He licks and prods at the nipple, dampening the fabric until it’s sheer then he makes his way to its twin, lavishing it with the same treatment, biting and licking like this is a buffet and he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

 

A slight squeak fills the thin air in the car and he glances up to see the death grip Cristiano has on the head rest, he _almost_ feels bad.

 

Almost.

 

“Please, please” feverishly the Portuguese begs and _no_ he’s not ready to give up this rush of power just quite yet and his only answer to Cristiano is to open the fly of his pants and drag the drag his pants as far down his legs as his straddle will allow—past his knees and no further.

 

Taking his hard cock in hand he coyishly looks up at Cris, maintaining eye contact as he strokes himself _nice and slow_ thrusting forward to smear the beads of pre-com that are pooling at the tip.

 

Rubbing himself off on Cris like a dirty filthy whore and loving everything minute of it.

 

Cris watches himself enraptured, eyes never leaving the sight of his hard cock peek-a-booing in his hands. He swipes his thumb across the tip and wipes it off on his own lips before rushing forward and forcing Cristiano to get a taste and his mouth is devoured, the moment their lips meet a tongue is stealing every bit of the come off his lips and thrusting into his mouth like a mock displaying of what they could be doing.

 

Suddenly he wants _exactly_ that and he grasps out “Is there any lube in here?” and almost instantly a small tube of lotion is slapped into his hands, looks like someone is feeling a bit eager.

 

He doesn’t raven reprimand Cris for breaking the rules and moving his hands.

 

It was for a good cause.

 

Pouring a small amount into his hand he reaches behind himself, flushed red but for once _not_ in embarrassment. Circles around the furled ring of his own opening before pushing in slowly, groaning at the feeling it has been a while. He pierces himself in small jabs never going too far, touching his own touch coating his walls in cool gel making sure to lubricant himself fully, he hasn’t had anything inside him in a while.

 

“Deeper” Cristiano whispers and he looks up only to find that those dark eyes aren’t quite on him instead they are…..a quick glance behind reveals that they are locked on the mirror which is reflecting everything he is doing, putting his split ass on full display.

 

He shoves in two fingers wanting to put on a show for his lover and the way he groans tells him that the Portuguese is enjoying what he’s seeing, very _very_ much. This mock sex show goes on for a few moments with both of them groaning and making filthy noises until he needs more and he drags his fingers from his ass with a wet squelch that would make him bow his head in shame any other day.

 

Today it only makes him hotter, if that is even possible at this moment.

 

“Condom?”

 

That single word breaks the moment, they’ve mover used condoms in the past and he doesn’t see any reason for them to need them now unless…… and his emotions must show on his face because quick as lightning Cris is grabbing his head ignoring his soft complaint _don’t move_ and he’s pulled forward until their foreheads are resting and he can see right into Cris’ soul.

 

“No, don’t even _think_ it I would never and I will never. I swear. It’s just that this is a rental car and we always make quite a mess” he explains simply and Gareth feels his breath return to him, he doesn’t know what he would have done if Cris revealed that he’d slept with another.

 

He reaches between them and finally opens Cris’ pants exposing an erection so thick and hard it’s a wonder it didn’t rip through his tight dress pants.

 

“ _Porra fuck it_ I’ll buy the damn car I’m rich, if we don’t do something soon I’m going to explode!” he exclaims and Gareth doesn’t need any more instructions, he’s done with all the teasing they both need this.

 

Keeping hold of Cristiano’s erection he lifts up and slides home, fitting the final puzzle piece he has been missing. Starburst of pleasure explode behind his tightly closed eyelids and he doesn’t give himself a moment to adjust, he lifts and falls once more taking Cris to the brim and dying at the overwhelming feeling of fullness.

 

The flared mushroom head prods at his pleasure button with every movement and he can’t stop pushing down chasing ecstasy needing more of it _now._ A corkscrew like motion is what ultimately makes the Portuguese break promise to keep his hands to himself, he’s impressed with his longevity nonetheless he lasted longer than expected in the circumstances.

 

Cristiano grabs him in a possessive hold and tugs him back down his cock, thrusting up to meet his downward press and the collision is euphoric—so good it’s bordering on painful.

 

Again and again, Cris bangs into him throwing him around like a doll and not a muscled footballer himself and it feels great---beyond great, but he wants back a bit of his control so he reaches on the sides until he finds what he’s searching for.

 

The seat release button.

 

Cris gasps in shock when he finds himself thrown backwards, suddenly lying flat and he capitalizes on that rare moment of shock, lifting up until only the tip remains and then sliding down slow as molasses letting it all fill him until he has nothing left, no space left, all of him is taken. “Take everything.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I keep disappearing, honestly if I could write all day everyday I would. I was gonna wait until Friday because it still hasn't been proofread but I'm a bit too excited about our NEW COACH and all the Baliano moments there have been lately and just here you go guys, I'll try to update again soon! 
> 
> Oh also it's been very nice to get comments from newbies hiiiii everyone who is still reading!! Comments and kudos are always welcome, tell me what you like/don't like what you had for dinner I'm always here to listen lol you all seem to enjoy the filthy fantasies I have in my mind it's only fair <3


	25. Chapter 25

He's sure there are words in Spanish that can perfectly describe what he's feeling and everything that has happened to them, but he hasn't wrapped his tongue around the language nearly good enough to know what they are.

_There are definitely other things that you've wrapped your tongue around plenty good though_ , he hears the lascivious voice of his sleeping over in his head, eyes fond as he runs them over the tanned muscles physique.

The Portuguese overachiever had soundly passed out after their--he quickly counts mentally, sixth round of arduous lovemaking.

He looks larger than ever haphazardly sprawled across the King sized bed, like a lion resting in its den and he loathes to awaken him.

But.

He knows that Cristiano will want to hear the news from him first rather than from nosy camera men who follow the star everywhere. 'Real Madrid coach, Carlo Ancelotti has been sacked by the board for undisclosed reasons', he feels all his blood run ice cold and he knows this news will break his lover's heart.

Cristiano is not the type to openly speak out in favor of anyone, choosing to focus on himself and Gareth knows that his Instagram post had been a last ditch attempt to get Perez to reconsider.

Unfortunately for them all it had been in futile; it seems even the approval of the greatest modern day footballer isn't enough to save a mans job these days.

Honestly he doesn't understand why the President would make a decision like this, he has to know what Carlo has come to mean to them all; like the godfather they never had.

He unified their team in a way that no other coach had been able to thus far and it's just.... _sad_.

And he selfishly doesn't want to see Cristiano's smile slide off his face, the Portuguese commonly awakens from their bed with a mischievous smirk on his ridiculously handsome face. He loves that smiling face.

He can always count on that smile to lead to hours of panting and moaning and then avoiding eye contact when they both stroll up minutes late to practice, to a uproar of catcalls and demands for them to "get a room", to which he usually glares in response because none of them understand how hard it is sometimes for him to even _leave_ the room.

Physically, he means he's not _that_ much of a horndog.

Well not all the time anyway.

Cris is not above playing dirty and he has hidden Gareth's clothes before, he flushes remembering that day he had to go without underwear.

Shaking in fear that Marcelo or Isco would spontaneously decide that today was the day to reveal his pale white bum for all to see.

He's sure he would have combusted from embarrassment,--

"What's got you blushing so pretty?" a deep sleep ladled voice shakes him out of his thoughts and before he can deign that question with a response he's been dragged across the small space separating them.

"Thinking about all I did to you last night?" _Well no,_ he wasn't but he damn sure is now!

It was an interesting night to say the least, they'd gone to a certain Brazilian's house and he's sure that the amount of food that was plied onto him would have been more than enough to feed an army.

Nonetheless the food had been delicious, spicy and colorful just like the left back himself.

The only thing that had made him pause at the door was the appearance of a certain baby-faced player. Peeking his head over a thick shoulder, looking every bit the puppy so many called him.   
  
He refused to let that seemingly innocent face deceive him, he knew he was anything _but_. Those pink lips he'd been gnawing on were the very same lips that had.....

This was the first time that'd seen each other since returning and he wasn't sure how exactly to react to his sudden apparition.

He had made to take a step back wanting to prolong this confrontation a bit longer, they were team mates so he had to be cordial but he had no desire to sit and eat with him as if they were old friends.

"Can I please have a moment with Gareth?" The Colombian meekly requested, he felt his skin twitch in annoyance when he looked up to see that despite the question clearly being directed to him those dark eyes were fully fixated on _his_ Cristiano.

A low growl escaped from the depths of his chest without his acquiesce.

" _Calma calma_ " he heard Cris whisper into his ear, hands rubbing in a soothing motion up and down his bristling skin.

He had no doubt he resembled an angry cat with its fur on end.

Then suddenly he was alone in a room with one of the last people he wanted to be alone with. He would make Cris pay for this, this explained why he was so adamant that Gareth join he and Marcelo for dinner.

  
"I'm sorry for everything it was never my intention to try to...come between you two. I was just so excited to be playing with THE Cristiano Ronaldo and he was so much nicer than I expected and better look--I mean," his glare ended that statement before it could fully formulate.

"Sorry, sorry! I keep messing everything up" the young Colombian sighed sadly and he felt an iota of sympathy forming, the boy looked so young in that moment.

And he was, so young and new and so clearly still starstruck and he personally understood that feeling, Cristiano was a big deal but that didn't excuse James' action and finally he felt strong enough to voice his opinions.

"I don't want to hate you. But what you did it was wrong, I need you to understand that and understand why we may never have a closer relationship."

The Colombian bowed his head in sad acceptance but he wasn't quite finished yet,  "On the pitch I will put this in the back of my mind but because the team shouldn't have to suffer but I don't trust you and I'm not sure there's anything you can do to regain my trust."

"I'm really sorry."

"I know but sometimes that just isn't enough" and that had been the end of their uncomfortable conversation.

"You two can come out and stop pretending you're not listening to every word we're saying" he called out and true to his word, a pair of sheepish faces came through the door.

Marcelo making his way to comfort his...whatever James is to him and Cris keeping a safe distance from him. Knowing Gareth is likely to bite his hands off if they come  _anywhere_ near his body. 

To say dinner had been tense would be an understatement but it did put his fears slightly at ease to see James doting on Marcelo, the Brazilian shone brighter than he'd ever witnessed.

 

 

Without any warnings whatsoever there are fingers caressing him in his most intimate places and he _squeaks_ in surprise.

"When you're in my bed I need you to give me your _full_ attention or I'm gonna get upset" the Portuguese manhandles him into his place, namely below him.

Fingers still searching and curling and _nngggh_ , "You're still so wet" the Portuguese good to God-- _coos_ to him and he needs to stop this before it can go any further.

It wasn't even supposed to happen last night, but he'd been weak and still buzzing from seeing James, he needed to feel like he and he alone belonged to the Cristiano.

He tries to be stronger today and twist away but that only results in those long nimble fingers brushing right against his sweet spot and starlights _explode_ behind his eyes.

"Ge'off " he manages to mumble out accent thickened by the pleasure shooting through his veins and he already knows something horrible is coming by that damned smirk etched on his lover's face.

"Oh don't you worry baby I will _definitely_ be getting off" and he punctuates the statement with a corkscrew twist deep inside him and he forgets everything, his mind is a litany of " _fuck, yes yes , touch me please._ "

He's truly not proud of the cockslut he's become.

Nor of the fact that he now thinks of himself as such.

Prior to this relationship he knows it was safe to say that he was the epitome of sweet and boring, no kinks to be found but this Portuguese powerhouse has a way of turning him on like a switch and he's powerless to stop it.

Their lips meet in a kiss that makes his very soul curl into itself, gasping when he feels those fingers thrusting harder into his abused hole still wet just like Cristiano said and he wants to be embarrassed but instead his body lights up in arousal.

He widens his stance offering his body like a feast and Cristiano is a glutton, he does what he always does: takes ravenously.

Filling him up with something bigger in the blink of an eye and promptly fucks out any thoughts in his head, until the only words left in his vocabulary are: yes, fuck, harder.......

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_It's better to have loved and lost than to never had loved at all._

  
What a load of horse shit.

If he were the drinking type that would be his method of choice but he's knows drowning himself in liquor won't undo anything that's been done.

It won't stop Gareth from running away from Cristiano only to ultimately run back to him as they act out their tragic love story, uncaring about those they leave in their wake.

He's bitterhe,  knows he is but he can't wrap his head around anything the Welshman had said to him all those weeks ago.

_You're a good man, one of the best men I know and I'm so honored and flattered by your feelings but..._

That had been the beginning of the end.

But.

There shouldn't have been a but, if he was as great as Gareth claimed why was he here alone while Cristiano enjoyed the fruits of his bounty? He'd done _nothing_ to deserve such an honor and yet it was simply handed to him on a gold-- _no_ platinum fucking platter.

He loves Cristiano in his own way can't not after all these years of playing together and seeing the passion he has for football, incomparable to anyone else.

_Pero_.

At this moment in time he hates him so venomously he's terrified all his hatred will billow out of him and consume him in a darkness.

**_Come for drinks with me._ **

His phone vibrates loudly on the coffee table and he makes no move to answer the question.

_**It wasn't a question in case you think you're allowed to say no.** _

_**You're not.** _

_**Get dressed I'm coming.** _

He smirks in response to the stream of aggressive messages, the first time in days that his face has been graced with anything but a frown or grimace.

He wasn't planning to drink tonight but perhaps having some company will make it less pathetic, maybe it's time he stopped wallowing in his own self-pity. Or at least pretend to.

He walks off to shower, the pieces of his broken heart jostling in his chest; jagged and torn. Maybe alcohol and a pretty face can be his glue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks over hands* 
> 
> Not sure if anyone is still there but I felt this sudden urge to just write and so this happened. I'm soooooo sorry if I kept annoying anyone waiting honestly I don't have any excuses I just lost my muse for a bit and then life just took over. In my defense this was only ever supposed to be an one-shot but clearly that didn't work out. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to the word "but" and it's power to ruin everything. 
> 
> I was perfectly happy to pretend Carletto never left us in this story but now we have Zizou and are the champions of Europe soooo I figured I'd cry a little and write about him leaving so we can get back to the happier times! 
> 
> Oh and look maybe Arbeloa is getting someone!! Hmmm you'll see soon enough, 100 points to anyone who can guess. It's pretty fucking random honestly but most of my ships are. 
> 
> Smile. I'm pretty stoked to be back already working on my other story, writing bug bit me!


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